Unconnected
by Juze
Summary: In the pursuit of perfection, sacrifices have to be made. To become a better cop, Sally finds herself spending more time with the most infuriating man she's ever met to observe his methods. Or maybe that's just what she keeps telling herself. Shally!
1. Obvious

**Unconnected**

**Chapter 1: Obvious**

Flashing blue lights lit up the darkened pier that had recently been enfolded by long strips of yellow tape. The pier itself was ordinary, with the water gently lapping along the side of the bank. The night itself was ordinary, with only a gentle breeze ruffling through the trees. The corpse in the middle of the pier was not ordinary.

It was the third body they had found under similar circumstances. All three bodies were female and seemed to have been killed with a similar method, but that was where the similarities ended. The race, age, and physical build of each woman was different, and they could not for the life of them find any connecting factor.

Sergeant Sally Donovan surveyed the scene, meticulously examining everything that might give a clue to point to the killer. She searched fruitlessly for car or foot tracks, a dropped article of clothing, a cigarette butt, anything. She was determined that this time, this time she would not be accused of being stupid and blind. Though she refused to admit it to herself, she wanted to prove her own worth. What was worse was that she so desperately wanted to prove it to _him_.

Despite her best efforts, she could only see what she had seen when she'd first arrived. The woman was in her late thirties and heavy, but not grotesquely so. She was wearing very current fashions from top designers. There were no visible signs of trauma, other than the blow to the back of the head that presumably killed her. Her clothing was smooth without any indications of defensive action. The only thing amiss, as far as she could see, was the missing purse. Without it, they had no identification on their Jane Doe, but Sally hoped that somehow the missing information would eventually lead them to the killer.

It wasn't much to go on, but it was all she had.

Right on cue, the tall, imposing figure seemed to materialize just on the other side of the yellow tape. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, he was far too busy for such trivial social conventions. His eyes were scanning, taking in everything that had been seen but not observed by the officers.

Reluctantly, Sally stood to walk towards him, her eyes narrowing in displeasure over his interested gaze. It wasn't right for him to be so keen on the sight of a dead body. It wasn't decent.

"Freak. What are you doing here?"

"Clearly you know exactly why I'm here as you were just crouched next to a body that even you could not have missed. And you already know that I'm here because Detective Lestrade requested my help on a case that you are so obviously out of your depth with. Now, are there any more pointless questions you want to ask, or are you going to let me do what I do best?"

Sherlock's cold, dispassionate voice raised Sally's ire more with each word, but she knew she did not really have a choice as she lifted the tape to let him in. Sherlock ducked under and strode away without even a pretense of thanks. Behind him, the sergeant rolled her eyes as she followed after him.

Sally watched as the consulting detective bent near the body, closely looking at everything that was there. She could practically hear his mind clicking away as it ruled out possible scenarios and arranged probable ones based on the evidence the killer had left. Detective Inspector Lestrade came up next to her as they watched the strange man conclude his investigation with surprisingly little damage to potential evidence.

Two minutes later, the thin, lanky man rose to his feet, peeling off his latex gloves as he turned to face them.

"What do you have, then?" Lestrade asked.

"Not much. She's a local, single but looking very actively. She's also very active in her social life and has recently been going to the gym. Fashion is important, but that's to be expected as she's doing everything she possibly can to snag the illusive perfect man. The killer didn't know her beforehand, but he must have lured her here somehow."

"How in the hell can you know all that?" Sally fumed. She'd been staring at that body for the past half hour and hadn't been able to come up with half of that. He had to be tricking them somehow by withholding pertinent information that he'd acquired beforehand.

Sherlock's piercing blue eyes rested on Sally for a moment before he spoke. "As usual, Sgt. Donovan, you are looking without seeing. The precise way that she has taken care to present herself as attractive as possible reeks of desperation, as does the noxious amount of perfume she's liberally applied and the amount of make up on her face. If she had been dating anyone, the lures would be unnecessary. Her skin has the loose elasticity of someone who has recently been losing a lot of weight, yet she is not tanned, which means that she has been exercising indoors. That points to an active gym membership. Her clothes are obviously new, but they're also expensive and cut just a little too snug. She's anticipating losing more weight soon, but she is very conscious of looking good while doing so. As for her social life, the callouses on her thumb are made from frequent and rapid texting. She works in an office, but she's not high enough to need to text to that degree for business, so it must be personal. "

With that, he dismissed the stunned officer and turned back to Lestrade. "Am I correct in assuming that no identification has yet been found?"

"No, we haven't uncovered her name yet," Lestrade answered, bemused by yet another display of the detective's brilliant deduction skills. "We've found no purse or anything else to tell us who she is."

"Check the gyms; start with the more popular ones," came the recommendation that sounded more like an order.

"Do you know the connecting link between the cases yet?" Sally couldn't help but ask.

"Not yet. I need to examine whatever evidence might have been salvaged from the bungling job you have done so far. Lord knows what may have been lost already due to sheer ineptitude."

Sally wanted to slap him. Her hand was slightly raised to do so before she was able to regain control of herself.

Not even bothering with seeing how his words were received, Sherlock pivoted on his heel to walk back to the street. It took a few moments of staring at his retreating figure for her to recollect that the picture was incomplete.

"Where's his little _colleague_, then?"

กกก

John Watson sighed in exasperation as he ascended the stairs to the second level. The sounds of a violin being painfully plucked wafted downstairs, greeting him as he opened the door. Just as he'd suspected, his roommate was sitting in his chair, absently tugging at the taut strings as he stared at the wall.

Quickly, John glanced around to make his own deductions. Obviously, there was a case of some kind that he had begun working on. It must be something puzzling enough to intrigue him, but not so convoluted that he needed to fully immerse himself into the task of composing a song that left his mind free to operate.

Knowing that any attempt at engaging Sherlock in what he deemed meaningless conversation would likely fail, he left his flatmate to his musing and instead busied himself with fixing a nice cuppa.

By the time the kettle was boiling, the plucking had stopped. John looked over to see that Sherlock had shifted forward in his chair, steepling his hands in front of his face. The violin was discarded to the side, having fulfilled its usefulness. Three files were spread out over the table in front of him, containing the deaths of three separate women. From what John could make out, they all seemed pretty different aside from the fact that they were all dead.

Picking up the nearest file, John read the name typed on the bottom of a picture of an attractive, young black woman.

"Yvonne Tennyson."

"Young teenage girl, home on holiday from university. She was on her way to visit a friend when she got sidetracked and ended up dead in an ally. Cause of death was a single blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Her purse was missing." Sherlock rattled off the girl's description distractedly as he continued to stare vacantly.

John nodded in recognition as he read off the second name, this time a middle-aged white woman. "Chelsea Brown."

"Mother of three, ran a home business selling scented candles. She was at the grocery store when she was taken, leaving her car in the parking lot. Her body was found a block away from the store, single blunt force trauma to the back of the head. No purse."

The third file was so far only labeled as 'Jane Doe,' but John knew that it was unlikely to remain so for long. The pictures showed a heavyset Indian woman in designer clothes with, yes, what appeared to be a single blow to the back of the head.

"Any connection other than hitting them from behind and taking their bags?"

"Yes, they're all dead," came the distant reply. "Why would he take their bags? If he was a robber, he would simply take their possessions and let them alone, but he kills them. Besides, what kind of a robber would be completely uninterested in jewelry? He lures them away to secluded places, he gets them to trust him, and then he kills them. He's not brave, he does it when he can't see their face. The question is 'why,' though. There has to be a trigger. He doesn't enjoy killing, it's a compulsion."

"How do you know he doesn't enjoy killing? I'd think that three bodies point to some level of enjoyment," John argued.

Sherlock glared up at his flatmate, annoyed by the smallness of unthinking minds. "If he enjoyed killing, he wouldn't leave their bodies neat and tidy like he has been. He'd play a little. Either before or after, he'd rough them up a bit. This is no power killer, this is a scared, pathetic human being who is so good at playing the mouse that he's going unnoticed by all around him. He's blending in, passing right before everyone's eyes."

John was about to ask how they'd be able to find such a person when a knock came at the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to see Sergeant Donovan on the other side.

"Is the Freak in?" she asked before pushing her way inside, not waiting for a response. Clomping up the stairs, Sally shrugged out of her coat before standing firmly in front of Sherlock Holmes. "Checked around at the gyms. You were right. Her name is Rashika Singh."

"A text message would have been sufficient," Sherlock stated, not bothering to look up at the imposing woman.

"That would have kept me from seeing your method."

"My method?" One eyebrow rose as his eyes finally came into focus.

"Yes, your method. How you work. I want to know how you know so much."

"I pay attention."

Sally rolled her eyes. She'd known it was a long shot, but she _had_ to know how he did it. If there was a way to become a better cop, she'd do it, no matter how much she hated swallowing her pride.

After standing on place for a moment, she tossed her coat across the back of the opposite chair before flopping down herself. Crossing her arms comfortably across her body, she continued to stare at the enigmatic man, barely acknowledging the sounds of John moving around in the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, no one had said a word. Sherlock was the first to break the silence.

"What are you doing?"

"Paying attention."

"To me?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Don't flatter yourself," she scoffed. "I'm paying attention to your method."

"Are you now? What have you observed so far?"

"So far, I've seen a conceited asshole muse to himself while blocking out everything around him so he can concentrate."

"I haven't been blocking out anything. Since we have begun our fascinating staring contest, John has completed making his tea and been reading the newspaper, the political section, judging from the amount of irritated taps he's been making on the table. You have received two text messages, but you haven't received them, which tells me that you already know what they are about and you have no desire to check for confirmation. I'd say that they're probably from Anderson, seeing as how your mouth tightened with each text, showing that you are irritated with him. Trouble in adulterer's paradise? You already knew he was a lying cheater when you entered into the relationship, so maybe the lure of being in a forbidden relationship has lost its luster. Or maybe you've found someone else more interesting. Is that why you're really here?"

Sally's fist tightened more as the infuriating man continued rattling off details that were far too cannily accurate.

"Bastard. I'll have you know that I'm not here for any reason other than professional interest."

"Are you now? Is it really so professionally developmental to enter into a man's home uninvited so you can stare at him?"

"It is if he's the world's only consulting detective."

Abruptly standing, Sherlock snatched up his coat, putting it on as he spoke. "Well then, let's see if we can't find a more active way for you to observe, shall we?"

Without a glance behind to see if she was following or not, he strode out the door leaving a dumbfounded sergeant behind him. John looked up to catch her eye. "Yeah, he does that," he echoed her words to him from their first meeting.

Quickly, Sally grabbed her coat and ran after him. He had just flagged down a cab when she threw herself inside after him.

"Where are we going?"

"To Rashika Singh's house, of course."

_Of course,_ Sally thought snidely.

ขขข

The cabby stopped in front of the address that Sally gave for where the late Rashika Singh had lived. The apartment was in a fashionable part of the city, but clearly in a location where the rent was fairly inexpensive. Obviously, Rashika liked to keep up appearances.

"Follow my lead," Sherlock instructed as he rang the doorbell. A few minutes later, the door opened to reveal a clearly upset woman, most likely Rashika's mother. Instantly, the detective transformed his face into a sorrowful mask.

"I just got the news. Is it true, then? Is she really gone?"

The woman's face contorted in confusion. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"This must be so hard for you," he ignored her question. "We were waiting over at the pub all night, but she never showed up. It wasn't until later that we found out why."

"She wasn't headed to a pub last night," the woman's confusion increased. "She was on her way to her friend Claire's house."

"That was just like her, always so busy with so many friends. God, we're going to miss her."

"She's really only been busy the last few months. How long did you say you've known her?"

"Fairly recently. We met at the Red Dog pub with my girlfriend, Sally."

Sally snapped out of her stunned silence upon hearing herself referred to as Sherlock's girlfriend. _Girlfriend?_

"Rashika never went to the Red Dog, she said she'd never be caught dead in there with all of the hideous décor."

"Really?" Sherlock suddenly turned off his ruse. "That _is_ interesting."

Turning on his heel, he walked away, leaving Sally to scamper after him.

"What was interesting?" she called out.

"Rashika would have never gone to the Red Dog pub."

"Yes, I heard that. Why is that interesting?"

"Really, what must it be like to be you? Is it peaceful having such a sluggish brain without any activity to excite it? If Rashika had no desire to go to the Red Dog, then why was her body found in the alley behind the pub?"

Sally paused. "I don't know."

"And that's what I find interesting."

"But how did the killer get her there? Was she coerced?"

"You know as well as I do that there were no signs of defensive maneuvers or any indication that she was there unwillingly. Even her body confirms that with no adrenaline being found in her bloodstream."

"Hold on, now. The autopsy report isn't due back until the morning. How do you know that?" Sherlock just smirked. "Of course. That little doctor who has that mad crush on you. Hopper, is it?"

"It's _Dr. _Hooper."

"Ooh, a bit defensive, are we? Did I strike a nerve?"

"I see no reason for you to go around insulting people you don't know."

"What, a manner lesson? From _you_? You insult people all the time."

"Only if I know them."

"You insulted me for the first time two minutes after we'd met."

"That's how long it took for me to know you."

ฃฃฃ

Stony silence filled the cab as Sally refused to speak to the infuriating man she was reluctantly following. Sherlock was lost to his own thoughts, happily content with the lack of communication at present. It wasn't until the taxi stopped in front of the New Scotland Yard building that she spoke again.

"What are we doing here, then?"

"To do a bit of research on our case, of course."

"Don't you usually have your own little ways of digging up clues that don't involve the tax payers' money?"

"Of course, but the whole point of our joint venture is for you to be a better cop, is it not? It makes more sense to train you to use your own resources than to reveal what my own are."

Her feet rooted to the floor in surprise. Was he being considerate or snide? With Sherlock it was always a fine line. She'd ask how he knew her true motives, but it would only be opening herself up to more ridicule.

It wasn't until he paused to hold the door to the building open that he realized she was no longer walking. Lifting an eyebrow in question, he waited for her to recollect herself and catch up.

Fifteen minutes later, Sally didn't care about Sherlock's methods, she just wanted him to stop hovering over her desk.

"No, no. Try the CCTV of the bank across the corner. It has an unobstructed view of the way Rashika would likely have been taken."

With a sigh, Sally closed the program she had just finished opening that was apparently so very wrong. She thought the traffic cam would have been an obvious starting point, but apparently what seemed obvious to her was foolishness to him.

Another hour later, and Sally was forced to swallow an irritating truth. No matter how much she hated being wrong, she hated him being right even more so. And he was right. Again. There was Rashika, walking across the street at just past 10 in the evening, talking on her mobile. Something caught her attention, and she looked off to the right down the alley from which she would never reemerge.

"Great. So we know she was talking on her cell phone to someone and then she got distracted. Too bad we can't see what she saw, so we're still in the dark on our suspect."

"Wrong, sergeant. Look again. What do you see?"

Was he being…_supportive?_ Where was the snark followed by a tedious lecture about how blind she was?

There was something more than unusually suspicious about a Sherlock who was going through the effort of being encouraging. Had he been body snatched? Had a personality overwrite? Was he dying?

Her questions must have been obvious in her eyes, because the enigmatic man heaved a sigh before speaking.

"I already told you that I was going to help make you a better cop. The faster I do that, the better for both of us."

Sally stared at him, stunned, before looking back at the screen. If he was willing to help her towards her end goal, who was she to stop him?

"Okay, what am I missing?"

"Think about it. What _exactly_ is she doing? Why did she turn her head? The answers are all there in front of you, you just need to learn how to see instead of blindly stumbling around."

"Okay. She's talking on her mobile."

"What does that tell you?"

"That she has someone to talk to?"

"More than that. Think. Where was she going?"

"To her friend Claire's house."

"Right. She was walking there, even though it was rather far. She's made this route before, or she'd be unlikely to do so at such a late hour. What does that mean? It means that she had to have seen something unusual. Something made her pause and end her call. It had to have been something interesting enough to draw her attention without being alarming to where she'd call for help. Now think. What do you know?"

"I know exactly what you just said, what more can I say?"

"Dammit, Sally. You have a good head on your shoulders; now use it. Think. What do you know about the assailant?"

Sally thought.

"He'd have to have some way of garnering trust. He could be in a uniform or appear disabled or have a child. A child wouldn't make much sense, as it would be an unwanted variable in a murder, so the other two scenarios are more likely."

"Keep going."

"She looked slightly concerned on the video, so maybe he was asking for help. She had to have some reason to go with him down the alley."

"Excellent. Now tell me, did you notice anything else about her?"

"Not really." Sally admitted. At this point, her pride was beyond the point of needing protection.

"Her mobile. She put it in her pocket.

"Yeah, so?"

"The robber took her purse, but he also took her phone. Going through someone's pockets is indicative of a much closer invasion of privacy than stealing a bag."

"Maybe she pulled it out later when she felt she was in danger."

"She didn't know she was in danger," Sherlock reminded her.

"Right. _Doctor_ Hooper." Sally remembered their conversation about adrenaline levels and how Sherlock had obtained them 12 hours before the police.

Sherlock's lips twitched in acknowledgement of the grudging nod of respect afforded to the pathologist.

"So what do we do now, sensei? Where do we go from here?"

"You should know that," he admonished. "We find that phone."

คคค

John watched as Sherlock paced around the small flat. Even though life with his roommate could never be called boring, the past few days were particularly interesting.

Eventually, Sherlock paused, seeming to have arrived at some sort of conclusion. Oddly enough, he did not then proceed to scamper off to where the evidence had led him. Instead, he simply picked up his mobile, typed out a text, and then planted himself in front of the telly to yell at the horrible daytime programs.

"What exactly is it that is going on between you and Sally?" John finally asked.

"We're working a case." Sherlock remained focused on the screen.

"Yeah, I know that. What I don't get is _why_. You can't stand each other, you can hardly tolerate being in close proximity, and yet you're both willingly spending extra time together. For a case."

"What's the matter, John, are you jealous?"

"You know I'm not, and don't try to deflect. You never do anything without an ulterior motive. What is it?"

With a sigh, Sherlock turned to face his friend. "Sally came here two days ago insistent on discovering my methodology. I knew that I could ignore her and have her following me around and pestering me, or I could do my best to give her what she wants and send her away, the sooner the better. Now which decision makes more sense, I ask you?"

"So you're taking her under your wing, are you? I didn't know you cared." John's voice was teasing, but there was truth in his words.

"I _don't_ care. This seems the fastest way to make her leave. And if by some miracle she actually becomes more observant and therefore a better cop, so much the better. One less bumbling idiot."

With that, his attention was diverted back to the telly, to which he yelled out that of course the man was not the boy's father, and that it was all there in the turn of the boy's ears.

John turned a blind eye to his antics. He showed no reaction when an incoming text signal sent Sherlock flying from the apartment five minutes later. He certainly didn't notice the way he subconsciously brushed his hands down his suit and through his hair in an attempt to improve any visual flaws.

No, John was happy to continue the illusion that he was in complete ignorance.

ตตต

"So what now? You get a warrant for the victim's phone records and then make weird 'deductions' based on their calling patterns?" Sally's voice had nowhere near the sneer she thought it did.

"I told you. I'm not teaching you _my_ methods. I'm showing you how to use your own. Tell me honestly, did they teach you anything about research before they pinned a badge on you, or were you out sick that day?"

"Sorry. Must have missed the part about going rogue while memorizing all the laws about procedures for obtaining evidence I can actually use in court. It may surprise you to know that most juries don't take kindly to the thought of the government invading their privacy without cause."

"_Cause_. And what is that? It's just linking a cause to an obvious effect. How can you survive with such mind-numbingness?"

"Well, I do keep you around, don't I?"

Sherlock just smirked at her and turned back to the paperwork on her desk. Quickly, he flipped to the last page, pointing to the last outgoing call ever made on Rashika's phone. "Now that _is_ interesting."

"So it is," Sally breathed.

The last call was made at least 2 hours after Rashika's time of death.


	2. Persistent

**Unconnected**

**Chapter 2: Persistent**

_Sherlock just smirked at her and turned back to the paperwork on her desk. Quickly, he flipped to the last page, pointing to the last outgoing call ever made on Rashika's phone. "Now that is interesting."_

"_So it is," Sally breathed._

_The last call was made at least 2 hours after Rashika's time of death._

สสส

"How could a dead woman make a phone call?"

"Clearly she didn't," Sherlock answered her rhetorical question. "But someone did."

"So what, we message the phone to lure the killer out like you did in the Study in Pink?" Sally wondered aloud, her mind whirring with possible ways to track the phone and the killer down.

"Must everyone quote that infernal blog?" Sherlock scoffed before continuing. "Messaging Rashika's phone won't help. The killer has most likely tossed it by now. We'll have to track him down a different way."

"How do you know he chucked the phone?"

Sherlock sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose before delineating the obvious. "The killer is cautious, he keeps hidden from the cameras and lures his victims to where they can't be observed. He kills quickly, as though acting more on compulsion than desire. We know he is about 5'7" and 150 lbs. based on the blows he's delivered, but we have no data yet on age, race, or any other defining characteristic. So, he's aware of how to stay hidden. Any random person on the street could tell you that the police have the capability to trace a call and track the GPS chip in the phone. Do you really think he would make a call and then keep the phone with him as though he were waving a banner advertising his whereabouts?"

"So we don't trace the phone, then?"

Sherlock sighed again. "Are you quite sure you're capable of taking care of yourself in the morning, or do you need even someone as useless as Anderson to tie your shoes and tell you what to wear? Of course we trace the phone. The killer dropped it somewhere; we need to find it. It can tell us the general direction of where the killer went afterwards, as well as who he called."

"But you said—"

"I said that we had to track the killer another way, not that the phone was unhelpful. Please do keep up, and if it's at all possible, try to keep thinking."

Sally was then summarily dismissed as Sherlock dropped the appropriate forms approving a search on the phone into her hands before airily walking out. Her eyes squinted in dislike after him, though she couldn't help but feel something akin to gratitude, despite his manner.

ษษษ

A few hours later, Sally was searching an abandoned area along the Thames. The GPS search had narrowed it down to a decently sized radius. Now she just had to find the blasted thing. Snapping on a pair of gloves, her eyes scanned the overgrown grass and scattered litter. The possible places where the phone could be were a bit daunting.

The car door slamming behind her indicated that her unwelcomed search partner was ready to begin his part.

"Lovely little spot for a stroll," Anderson grumbled.

"You asked to come along," Sally reminded him, already a bit weary of his company.

"Yes, well it seemed the only way to get you alone to talk."

"Been busy."

"Yeah, I noticed that. How's life with the freak?"

"How's your wife doing?"

"Lisa has nothing to do with this. Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't," she hedged.

"I haven't seen you in three weeks."

"We see each other every day at work."

"I haven't seen you _alone_ in three weeks," he amended.

"Like I said, been busy."

"That, or maybe you found a new play toy. Is that what you're really doing with the freak, then? Having a bit of a go in between working the case?"

Sally glared at him. "Have you ever thought I might be motivated by professional curiosity?"

A mocking scoff was her answer as they both turned the brunt of their attention back to the search.

"All I know is that if you aren't coming to me anymore, you must be going to someone else," Anderson muttered a few minutes later.

"Believe it or not, not all of us need sex to survive."

"Mmhmm," came his unconvinced hum. A part of Sally wanted to pursue the matter, clearing her name of any besmirching ideas, but she found that ultimately, she didn't really care about his opinion of her. She simply didn't care anymore.

Anderson's opinion was not the one that mattered anymore; a realization that disturbed her more than a little.

Silently, they continued their search for the next hour. Sally studiously avoided Anderson's gaze and kept her distance as much as she could with him following after her. She wondered where the sudden revulsion had come from, though she didn't have to wonder for long. As soon as she began to think about Anderson, Sherlock's mocking face loomed in front of her.

It hadn't been too long ago that the situation was reversed.

Although Sally had seen the imposing consulting detective around the Yard, she had not had any direct contact with him until that day. It had appeared to be a simple hit and run case, straight forward despite the tragedy. They had been wrapping the scene up when the tall man strode in with his coat tails flapping behind him. Within two minutes, he had determined that the seemingly accidental death was in fact a premeditated affair in which the man had been run down by his jealous wife. Bored with the banality of such a commonplace motivator as emotion, he then moved on to deduct the officers around him, announcing them loudly to the rest of the force.

Anderson had been the one person to challenge him, claiming that Sherlock had probably never been able to get on the force on his own right, so he had to tag along behind the professionals like a lost puppy, growling at anyone who tried to pet him.

Though the rest of the officers were stunned by Anderson's audacity, Sherlock had simply smirked and walked off.

Thirty minutes later, Sally had Anderson pushed up against a wall, hungrily devouring him as she clawed at his clothes. The first time had not been sweet or slow, but what it had lacked in intimacy it more than made up for in intensity.

It was not until later that Sally had realized that Sherlock had not walked away out of defeat but out of disdain. The idea that Sherlock could have wanted to be an officer but unable was ludicrous. By asserting that it was his hidden motive, Anderson had made himself a fool. But still, it had taken some time for Sally to admit it to herself.

A sliver of something shiny caught the corner of her eye. Just as she was leaning to pick it up, it started trilling. Surprised, her hand jerked back for a moment before picking up the mobile phone.

A familiar voice sounded through the speakers.

"Ah, good, you found it then."

"Sherlock? Why are you calling this phone?"

"Helping, obviously." She could almost hear his eyebrows being raised.

"Helping. Right. Who said anything about needing help?"

"Clearly since you picked it up almost immediately, you either already found it or, more likely, had just found it. If you had attempted to call it before, you wouldn't have needed to search for so long. Remember to use everything in your disposal to find your clues quickly."

"…o-kay?" Was _the_ Sherlock Holmes truly just being helpful, or was there more—

"Now bring it back to Baker Street so I can get what evidence I need before your lab destroys anything that might be useful."

A small sound indicate that he'd hung up. Rolling her eyes, Sally put the phone into the evidence bag and sealed it. Anderson, of course, was right by her side as she did so, having appeared as soon as she had said Sherlock's name.

"What did the freak want? To know when you'd be coming home?"

A glare was the only answer she gave him before turning to go back to the car.

สสส

"Oi! Anyone in?" she called up the stairs after letting herself in through the unlocked door downstairs. Even though there was no answer, she continued on up the steps, opening the door at the top to reveal Sherlock stretched out on the couch, his eyes closed in thought with his fingers steepled under his chin.

"Hey!"

Sherlock looked up, clearly disgruntled over being disturbed. "So you ended up bringing the phone to the lab anyway, I see. Found nothing, I presume, or it's unlikely you'd be here."

"You don't think I'd come if I didn't have anything else to go on?"

"There wouldn't be any need, would there? If you had found something, you'd follow that lead until it inevitably lead you nowhere, upon which you would then come back here, asking for more help from me."

"Well, no, you're right. They found nothing on the phone."

"Give it here," he demanded, holding out his hand.

Sally plunked the device in his hand, sitting down on the chair next to him after doing so. She watched as his long fingers turned it over and over, his eyes seeking out all the hidden secrets it contained. The infuriating part for her was the knowledge that no matter how much she studied him, there was no way she'd ever be able to fully possess his natural deduction abilities. _Git_.

"New model, only a few months old, internet access, but the killer didn't want anything to do with that feature, only to make a call. Silver charm, dolphin, dangling from the top, no other distinguishing features. Classic boring black case, common phone, clearly meant more to gain access into social circles, not to set any trends."

Tossing the phone back to her, he continued.

"The real question is why he took the phone at all. He could have left it with the body. He didn't really need it, he could have made a call on any phone, or even _asked_ to borrow a phone if it came to that. So what made Rashika so special?"

"You think the phone is related to why she was killed?"

"Of course, why else would he have anything to do with her? Besides, it's the only factor that all of the victims have in common."

Sally stared at him. "What? I thought there _were _no connecting factors among them."

"What did I tell you about looking?" Sherlock sighed in frustration. Tossing the files at the bemused sergeant, he continued. "All three victims had their phones taken, only to be found about a block or so away from their bodies. Each time, the killer used the phone before he tossed it, to call the same number. All three phones also had the same charm attached to it."

"I'll be dammed," she whispered.

"Highly unlikely over such an oversight, unless you're referring to a compilation of sins."

He almost expected the glare she sent at him. He had noticed that it was her standard response whenever she knew she'd been bested.

"Why didn't you tell us there was a link?"

"Why didn't you see such an obvious link?" he challenged.

"So what's our next step, then?" she asked, deciding it was better to move on to action rather than dither about placing blame.

"Isn't it obvious? It's the same way you catch any creature: dangle some bait and wait for it to bite."

Sally did _not_ like the gleam in the detective's eyes. Nope, not one little bit.

พพพ

"Bloody git. I feel ridiculous," Sally muttered under her breath as she shifted back and forth in an attempt to ward off the cold. She was standing outside of a bar downtown, pretending to fiddle with her phone. Her phone just happened to have a shiny new silver dolphin dangling from it.

After playing with her phone in public for a good twenty minutes, she began to walk, being sure to keep the phone visible as she pretended to use it. In reality, she was scrolling through old emails and calculating just how much overtime she was racking up walking around the entire city.

When her phone buzzed in her hands, it startled her. As odd as it seemed, she had nearly forgotten it was there, it had been in her hand so long that it nearly felt like an extension of herself after several hours.

Opening up her message folder, she saw a new text from Sherlock.

_Any news yet?_

_Yeah. My ass is about to freeze and fall off. _Sally smirked as she hit the send button. Let the great detective make of that what he would.

A minute later, she received another text.

_That would be a shame. Try sitting on it inside a coffee shop for a while._

Was he…_flirting_? No, that couldn't possibly be it. Maybe…

"Sergeant Donovan," came a deep voice at her elbow. Jerking her eyes from the confusing text to the sender himself standing next to her, she barely noticed as he took her elbow and led her into a nearby café.

"What's this, then?" she challenged as she slid into a chair that had been pulled out for her.

"I was concerned you might start losing body parts if you stayed outside much longer."

"Would that be a bad thing?" She crossed her arms and legs an leaned back. _Oh, God, am _I_ flirting?_

"It would certainly hamper the investigation to have to bring someone else in at this point if you were to get sick," came the logical response. Sally's stomach dropped with unexpected disappointment before he continued on. "Besides, I wouldn't want anything to happen to such a nice _ass_-set."

Before she could blink in response, he was summoning a server over to order two coffees. By the time he turned back, the moment was gone, and he was clearly in a working mindset.

"We have been on the look for our suspect now for the past three hours, and we have not had any sign yet. I think we may have to resume this on another night. Tomorrow, we can try in a different part of town."

"I'm not sure we've given this area a decent chance yet," she challenged. "You were the one who said this night and place were the most likely to contain our man. I say we give it a bit longer."

"Can you stand any longer?" Although his question was said without any emotion, there was a glimmer of concern that she barely caught. Then again, maybe it was just her imagination.

"I'll be fine," she dismissed his question. "I've been on the force far too long to be a wilting violet like the women you're apparently connected with."

Sherlock scoffed as he thought about the other women of his acquaintance. Irene Adler was certainly _not_ a 'wilting flower,' nor was Molly Hooper, who possessed surprising strength despite being such a people pleaser. Even Mrs. Hudson had a core of strength. Any woman who regularly interacted with him would need to have some measure of strength just to endure repeated exposure to his brashness.

No one could remain soft around him, not like…well, it wouldn't do to think of _her_ at the moment.

"A few more hours, and then we'll see about calling it a night," Sally gulped down the rest of her coffee, bracing herself for the chill as she swept back outside, not waiting for a response.

Sherlock stared after her, annoyed and a bit…amused. She'd certainly keep any man on his toes.

ฯฯฯ

Sally walked along the darkened street, her phone idly sitting in her hand. Passing the mouth of an ally, she heard a noise that caught her attention. Looking towards the source, she saw an elderly woman with a cane struggling with an armload of parcels.

"Excuse me, ma'am, do you need some help?" Sally asked, stepping closer, just as another package tumbled from the woman's arms.

"Oh, dear," came the mumbled response seemingly half in an answer and half directed to herself.

Bending to pick up the fallen package, Sally heard a sudden, swift motion behind her before everything went blank.

**AN: Sorry, sorry, sorry for the delay. Apparently starting a new story just before changing countries is not a good idea. The next chapter is nearly finished, so it should be up much sooner. Tell me what you think! Reviews are the fuel for my writing. When they are lacking, my motivation wanes. **

**Thank you to VivaCohen, Sorbus Acuparia, and a-few-of-these-verses for your reviews. Reviews motivate me to keep writing when I am wont to get distracted. **


	3. Tenacious

**Unconnected**

**Chapter 3: Tenacious**

_Bending to pick up the fallen package, Sally heard a sudden, swift motion behind her before everything went blank._

ญญญ

Sherlock followed unnoticed behind the sergeant, turning his coat collar up against the persistent breeze. Though he tried to keep his thoughts professional, he couldn't help but notice the way her lithe figure minutely twisted and turned as she walked.

A fine _ass-_set indeed.

His attention perked up when he saw her pause before cautiously stepping into a side street.

_Here we go_, he thought as he stealthily began to follow her, keeping a fair distance between them. He could only hope that the space between them proved enough to maintain plausible coincidence without providing enough for serious harm to come to her.

ยยย

Ever so slowly, the black fog eased and consciousness returned. Despite losing consciousness, she suspected that she had not been out for long. Of course, she hoped to keep that information from her assaulter, or the damage might be increased.

Sally had never been more grateful for the mad little helmet-type contraption that Sherlock had made her wear under her hat. Though her head still rang with the force of the hit she'd received, the fatal blow was rendered ineffective enough to leave her alive.

Careful to not move a muscle and give away her vitality, she reached out with her other senses to make sense of her surroundings. She could feel her hat still secured to her head, her bag remained under her body, though she could feel it being tugged away as she thought.

Her assaulter was leaning over her, breathing heavily from exertion as she tugged the purse away. As soon as the bag was free, there was a scuffle, presumably of the woman gathering up her packages, and then quick steps as she ran off.

Clearly, the elderly persona had been a deception.

It was then that Sally realized that the phone that had been in her hand was gone as well.

_Could have seen that coming._

As the footsteps faded and she heard new footfalls approaching her, Sally dared to open her eyes. As she did so, striking blue eyes met hers, accompanied with a look of concern.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked.

"Peachy," she groaned, rolling up to a seated position, pushing down her nausea at the change in posture.

"Well, off with it, then. Shall we catch ourselves a killer?" A gleam replaced his concern as he took off to run down the street where the woman had gone.

With a groan, Sally pushed herself to her feet and ran after him.

๙๙๙

By the time Sally caught up with Sherlock, he already had the woman pinned to the ground, having apparently tackled her. Her cane was lying to the side, packages and her purse scattered all around.

There was also a wig on the ground near where it would have fallen off the…woman's... head.

"Ah, Sergeant Donovan, I was wondering when you would turn up. I believe you know our friend?" Sherlock's calm, almost conversational tone belied the obvious effort of subduing the pinned attacker.

Standing, he brought the assailant up after him by the cuff of…his…jacket.

Instead of the elderly woman she had seen in the alley, Sherlock was holding a young man wearing an old fashioned dress. It was no wonder how he had been able to gain the trust of his previous victims dressed as he was. Who would suspect a little old lady of trying to kill them?

Ignoring the continual buzzing in the back of her head that threatened to pull her under again, she reached behind her to grab the handcuffs she had tucked into the small of her back and proceeded to arrest the man, who was now looking incredibly confused and anxious over the sudden change in events. After all, it wasn't every day that the person you thought you had just killed appears in front of you.

Quick footsteps approached them as John Watson hurried over.

"Am I too late? Did I miss all the fun?"

"Unfortunately, you were too absorbed in your conversation with the waitress and more interested in getting her to write her number on your hand than in checking your text message, which I sent you when we were on the move. I'd like to tell you that your delay could at least result in a date, but I recommend that you _not_ call Miss…Doreen as she's a rubbish waitress, and probably already married."

John rolled his eyes and addressed his next question to Sally.

"Are you alright?" His voice held a note of true sincerity, with just a touch of shame over being late in such a serious situation.

"Yeah, I'm great. A bit lightheaded from a crack to the skull, but alive, which is the main thing."

"Of course you're alive. The killer always attacked by a single blow to the head, and we took precautions. If it had truly been a life-threatening situation, I wouldn't have sent you in," Sherlock rattled off while typing into his phone furiously.

"Oh, so _you're_ the one calling the shots now? Deciding when it's safe to put _my_ life on the line? I have no say in the matter, after all, I'm just a stupid officer—"

"Yes, I _am_ the one calling the shots in this case," Sherlock interrupted her, finally looking up to glare down into her blazing eyes. "I hope the recent hit to your head hasn't caused you to forget that you were the one who came to me seeking guidance—"

"Guidance!" she scoffed.

"And I graciously agreed to take you under my wing and show you how to properly do your job. The proof of my success is the handcuffed man standing before you."

"Well you can _graciously_ shove it right up your—"

"Hold, hold," John interrupted. "Okay, now, we've just had a very long night. I believe that we need to calm down for a bit and look to what needs doing. There's a man here who needs to be taken in for questioning, right? Let's start with that, and then you two can finish…whatever the hell this is."

An awkward tension stood between them for a few moments before the flashing lights of an approaching police car drew their attention. With a huff, Sally shoved the man, who still had not uttered a word, towards the car that would take him down to Scotland Yard. Sherlock and John trailed after her.

"You texted Lestrade to pick us up here," John stated more than asked.

"Of course. I wasn't about to share a cab with a killer who had just attacked someone."

"Good call with the helmet idea."

"Simple padding with a thin metal shell covered by a hat. As I said, an easy precaution that was sure to work."

"And the coffee break I saw you take with her? Was that just a 'precaution' as well?" John eyed his friend knowingly.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock picked up his pace, effectively ending the conversation.

"Yeah, sure you don't," John muttered after him.

รรร

It was not until her assailant was behind bars that Sally finally allowed herself to be examined. While John shined a light back and forth in her eyes, Sherlock stood mere feet away from her, typing furiously into his phone all the while.

"Well, I'm afraid you have a concussion," John concluded. "You'll have a bit of a headache for a few days and you will need someone to keep a close eye on you tonight, but I'd say it's still a fair better cop than being dead."

"I'd have to agree with you there, Doctor Watson," she smiled wryly. "I can ask my friend Maggie to—"

"Don't be silly. You're coming home with us."

Sally and John's heads wrenched towards the detective who had so calmly said the absurd.

"Come with you? The hell I—"

"Sherlock, I really don't think that's—"

"Of course she's coming with us," Sherlock talked over their protests. "It's the most logical course of action. I won't be sleeping tonight, so I can be sure to wake her on a routinely basis, and there will be a medically trained man in the next room should the unlikely course of events make his presence necessary. Sally's friend, Maggie, will be too preoccupied with her four young children to be too helpful in this instance. Now," he finally put his phone away and looked up, "shall we go? There are some experiments I would like to get started on tonight."

Dumbstruck, the sergeant and the army doctor followed the consulting detective outside, unable to offer a coherent objection.

By the time the duo caught up, Sherlock was outside the Yard, flagging down a taxi.

"221 Baker Street," Sherlock ordered, leaving the door open for his companions to scramble in after him. Electing to sit in the front, Sally tried to make sense of her sudden situation in the brief space she had, pointedly ignoring the men in the back.

Her effort at ignoring them was pointless, as each man seemed lost in his own world, both staring out their respective windows into the darkened city passing by. Sally followed their example, sorting through her thoughts until the driver pulled off to the side of Baker Street.

John stepped out, opening Sally's door for her and offering a welcome hand to her uncertain feet, while Sherlock sprang out and bounded up the stairs without a backward glance.

Slowly making their way up the stairs, John had one hand supporting her around her back when Mrs. Hudson bustled out.

"What's this, then? Are you okay, dearie?"

"She's okay, Mrs. Hudson, just a little concussed. A spot of tea would be lovely, though."

"Concussed? Oh, dear. Well, I suppose this once I could bring up a cuppa, but you really oughtn't to make it a habit to think I'll keep bringing you tea whenever you have a lady guest. I'm not your housekeeper." Her voice faded away as she retreated to her kitchen, leaving behind her a wake of amusement.

"I hope I'm not imposing," Sally half questioned, unwilling to put the kind lady out.

"Oh, don't mind that. Secretly, I think she loves being useful. She just likes to take the micky out of Sherlock and me whenever she can," John smiled at her.

Finally making it to the apartment, they found Sherlock lounging on the couch, his hands steepled under his chin in what was his favorite thinking pose.

"Sherlock, can we get to the couch? I need to set it up for Sally."

"Don't be ridiculous. She will be sleeping in my room."

"Like hell!" Sally exploded from shock.

"That might be a bit…awkward, don't you think?" John tried to reason.

"I would think sleeping on the couch would be far more awkward, seeing as how she'd be unable to fully recline in a comfortable position. I've already said I don't plan to use my bed tonight, and I can carry out my experiments much easier without needing to be worried about waking her if she's in the same room."

"I'm not sleeping in your bloody bed," Sally protested, finding the idea…strange. She was unwilling to further examine the sensations the idea brought forth.

"Second door on your left. The sheets are fresh, so no need to worry about any _contamination, _or whatever it is that is making you uneasy. Now, go get yourself ready for sleep. I'll be in to wake you in two hours."

Summarily dismissed, Sally stared at him, somehow still surprised by his brashness.

"Hoohoo," Mrs. Hudson called, breaking the tense silence. "Here's your cuppa, dearie. I wasn't sure how you take it, so I brought you up some milk and sugar for you to fix it the way you like." She placed a tray with a teapot, cup and small plate of biscuits on the table, giving Sally a warm smile before heading back out.

"Only one cup?" John asked, turning pitiful eyes on her.

"You have two fine legs and two fine hands, and I doubt you have a concussion. I'm sure you can manage to fix your own tea. Not your housekeeper, remember?"

John and Sally shared a snicker as the woman headed back downstairs. Sherlock was completely ignoring all of them by that point. Seating herself at the table, she offered a biscuit to John, who happily took one, munching as he headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Slowly pouring in a spot of tea and stirring it with the small spoon the thoughtful landlady had provided, Sally marveled at how comfortable she felt despite the unusual circumstance. She ought to be thoroughly irritated at the way Sherlock had taken over the situation with as little tact as possible, but she couldn't find the energy necessary to sustain any lengthy annoyance.

Through the haze that had settled over her mind, she was nearly grateful that she didn't need to make any decisions at the moment. It was nice being cared for. Well, cared for in a Sherlockian way, which was not quite the same as the way other people cared, but somehow all the more special for that.

John and Mrs. Hudson had also gone a long way to ensure her comfort. How in the world had the rudest man she'd ever met been able to surround himself with such considerate people? Maybe she only thought they were so kind in comparison to him. Would she always view people based on how the measured up, or didn't, to _him_? She needed to stop thinking now. Her thoughts were becoming much too…farluffled. _Farluffled? Was that even a word?_

Eager to escape her uneasy train of thought, Sally pushed herself to her feet, only to realize that she had risen much too quickly in her current state. The ground spun crazily for a moment as black clouds edged into her periphery. Grasping the table, she steadied herself as the dizziness passed.

"You ought to take more care. It will do you no good if you fall and hit your head again for the second time tonight."

Sally narrowed her eyes at the man still reclining on the couch. He didn't seem to have moved a muscle aside from loosening his jaw since requisitioning the spot.

"You know very well I didn't just 'hit my head' earlier. A homicidal madman tried to kill me by bashing my head in."

"Yes, but we knew he would do that before we even started, so I see no reason why you keep bringing it up as though it surprised you. What I _do_ know is that you are currently fit for little else besides sleep, which is what I recommend you do now. Second door on the left."

Sighing in reluctant agreement, she trudged off into the room she had wondered about in some of her more unguarded moments. She wasn't sure what she expected to find—dark walls, a crypt, maybe even a wall full of ongoing cases—but she was unprepared for the oddly tidy and sparse room with neutral colors. Aside from a framed poster of the periodic table, there was very little of Sherlock's personality in his room. Clearly, it was not a place where he spent much time.

Feeling strangely as though she were in some version of a high-end hostel, Sally sank onto the bed. The mattress was soft and inviting, urging her to curl up under the covers without another thought for the world, which is exactly what she did.

งงง

Moments after closing her eyes, an irksome shaking on her shoulder urged her to open them again.

"What?" she grumbled, slowly opening one eye.

"What's your favorite color?" came Sherlock's voice from the fog.

"What the bloody hell are you on about? You woke me up just to ask my favorite color?"

"You've been asleep for two hours. I need to ask you questions to make sure your mental faculties are undaunted by your recent concussion. Now, which color is your favorite?"

"Blue, now leave me alone," she attempted to roll over to go back to sleep, but Sherlock's hand restricted her movement. Rather than letting her move into a more comfortable position, he moved his hand to her back, maneuvering her into a seated position.

"Oh, come on. I want to sleep." If she had been more awake, she might have cringed at how her voice was whining.

"Soon enough. First, you need to drink some water and change into some pajamas."

"I don't want pajamas and I'm not thirsty. Leave me alone." Sherlock's still present hand prevented her from scooting back down.

"Would you rather sleep without any clothes? That's perfectly acceptable if you wish. What is unacceptable is sleeping in my bed in your street clothes, especially seeing as how your clothes have very recently been on the ground in an ally in the back part of London."

Prying both drowsy eyes open, she tried to focus her gaze on the small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. Sherlock seemed to have provided her with a pair of boxers and a shirt that would undoubtedly be too big for her.

"Fine," she grumbled, reaching down to pull her shirt over her head in an uncoordinated movement. Her muddled mind barely registered when another set of hands helped pull her shirt off, quickly replacing it with a looser, baggier one before repeating the process for her bottom half. Almost as soon as her soiled clothing was gone, her head was back on the pillow and she was again lost to the world.

Sherlock looked down at the officer who somehow looked so much smaller and more fragile asleep in his clothes. Her face was so peaceful in sleep. It was a shame she was so difficult while awake. She was somewhat of a pleasure to look at when she wasn't so busy snarling at the world.

Scooping up her dirty clothes, he tossed them in his hamper before returning to the living room, leaving the water glass on the bedside table. He'd just have to get her to drink it in a few hours when he woke her again.

Placing a new slide under the microscope, Sherlock tried to direct his attention to the experiment at hand, but the back of his mind was wondering what question he should ask her next. The current situation provided an unprecedented opportunity to delve into the undefended mind of Sergeant Sally Donovan. As unwilling as he was to admit it, he was eager to see what secrets he might uncover while she was in this state. He figured he probably had about two or three more questions before she was done sleeping. Now to decide what they would be.

ธธธ

**AN: Well, I was going to add a bit more to this chapter to finish it out, but I'm leaving in the morning and will be unable to upload for a week, so I figured I'd give you what I already had. What do you think? What questions would you ask Sally if you were in Sherlock's position?**


	4. Pugnacious

**Unconnected**

**Chapter 4: Pugnacious**

Two hours later, Sherlock was again sitting on the side of is bed looking down on the sleeping form of Sergeant Donovan. She looked as though she hadn't moved since he left her, still curled up on her side with the covers tucked tightly under her chin. Her face was really the only part of her he could see, and it was relaxed and peaceful, so unlike how he was accustomed to seeing her. Not fully sure why he did so, he logged away the image before waking her.

"Sally. Wake up," he commanded lowly, shaking her shoulder lightly.

At first she was unresponsive, simply burrowing deeper into the pillow and letting off a tiny groan of protest.

"Sally. Wake up Sally." He shook her shoulder a bit more forcefully until her eyes finally began fluttering open.

"Sherlock?" her confusion shone plainly on her face. "Why are you…? Where am I?"

"You have a concussion. You're in my room so I can check on you to make sure you are not seriously injured." Sherlock answered swiftly. "Why did you become an officer?"

"I have a— Why did I what?"

"Why did you become an officer? A policeman. You could have chosen any career, why did you choose to go into law enforcement?" At her hesitation, he continued. "If you will remember, I need to ask you questions to ascertain whether or not you show symptoms of memory loss or confusion."

"Yeah, questions about my name or address, not my bloody life choices," her brain finally caught up to her mouth.

"Irrelevant. Do you know the answer?"

"So, if I don't tell you why I became a cop, then you'll wake John up to come examine me for mental confusion, that right?"

"Your ability to deduce has greatly improved, but that still doesn't answer my question."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Knowledge of the reasoning for decisions made in the past indicates a possession of long-term memory. I am trying to determine if you have that capability at present."

"Bullshit. Long-term memory loss is not one of the symptoms of a concussion. Why do you really want to know?"

Sherlock looked to the side for a moment before turning his gaze back to where she had rolled over to respond to his questioning.

"I'm curious as to your motivation. Statistics would indicate that there was likely either an influencing factor, such as being raised by an officer of the law, or a cataclysmic incident that prompted your undertaking such an employment. Women are historically less likely to pursue such a vocation, which makes your decision that much more unusual."

Sally blinked for a moment as she tried to comprehend the verbiage he had just thrown at her. If it had been anyone else, she might think that the line of questioning hinted at a real and genuine desire to know about her, but Sherlock was not a typical person, and his motivations were rarely so straightforward. It was more likely that he simply wanted his curiosity sated. Even more important was the realization that she would be unlikely to be able to go back to sleep until he was satisfied.

"My dad was a cop. He walked the beat for over twenty years before he died. Drug bust gone wrong. He took a bullet saving his partner."

"Admirable act of bravery."

"Yeah, except for the minor detail of his partner being on the take from the gang. If he hadn't been dirty, those guys would have already been arrested, and my dad would still be alive."

"Until he got killed in another way. Everyone dies. The circumstances do not mitigate the truth."

A tense silence followed.

"Can I go back to sleep now, or will this lovely conversation drag out all night?" Sally gritted through clenched teeth.

"You seem upset. Go back to sleep. I'll be back in two hours."

Standing, he quickly left, closing the door firmly behind him. Rolling her eyes, Sally rolled over to attempt to return to sleep. Somehow, it still amazed her how someone so intelligent could be so incredibly dense.

ยียียี

Sally was running through a dark corridor, the sound of her footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. The figures to the front and back of her left her uncertain of whether she was the pursuer or the pursued. Perhaps she was both. The only thing she knew for certain was that she must run; that if she didn't run, then something bad would happen to her. Despite the ache of her lungs, she must run, ignoring the stitch in her side, ignoring the pain in her legs, ignoring the…

"Sally." Sherlock's voice, coupled with minute shaking pulled her away from her frenzied quest. Blinking, soft light filtering in from the window met her view. Over her shoulder, Sherlock's voice came again. "Sally."

"What this time?" she groaned. "Do you want to know about childhood memories? Or maybe you want to test my math skills and have me solve some ridiculous equation?"

"Your tossing and moaning indicated that your sleep was not sound. You were having a nightmare. Quite understandable, given recent events."

"Was there a question in there?" Sally wondered aloud, surprised by what might have been considered concern if it had been done by anyone else.

"Why did you break up with Anderson?" he veered away from the current course of conversation.

"Excuse me?"

"Have you done something that needs excusing? Irrelevant. Why did you break up with Anderson?" he repeated. At her prolonged silence, he continued. "I've already asked you questions regarding personal preference and reasoning for decisions made long ago. Now I'm ascertaining proof that your cognitive functioning is equally clear on recalling recent decisions."

"Who said I broke up with Anderson in the first place? For that matter, who said we were ever together in the first place?"

"Come now, you were hardly subtle about leaving little clues of your dalliances."

"Still—"

"Answer the question."

Pursing her lips at his insufferablity, she decided to answer his question quickly and be done with it.

"We were going our separate ways, and there was no need to continue any 'dalliances,' as you put it."

"But why begin in the first place?"

"You had your answer, now let me go back to sleep. If you really care to know, ask me in about two hours."

"There had to be some initial draw. What was it? Why would you possibly want to be with _Anderson_ of all people," he persisted.

"God, you never let up, do you?" she groaned. "Anderson did what I needed him to do for me. I did what he needed. It never could have lasted; it had an expiration date before it started."

"So you use people until they are of no further service to you."

"Don't you?" she challenged.

Sherlock allowed a taut silence before rising from the side of the bed where he'd been sitting. "Go to sleep. I'll be back in a few hours."

ษ็ษ็ษ็

Glaring at the wall opposite him, Sherlock reflected back on the evening's illuminating conversations. It wasn't surprising that she had become an officer to avenge her father in some way. It made sense that she would seek to redeem his desire to bring order to a chaotic world, futile though it was. What did surprise him was the way she so easily cast off her former lover. Women were typically thought to be more sentimental than that.

Clearly, Sally was not a typical woman.

Did she truly consider him as a person who used people? Images of Molly Hooper, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and even John flicked past his mind. In each example, he was convincing them to give in to what he wanted, despite their own initial reluctance. Had he ever thanked any of them? Had he ever even thought about thanking anyone before this moment?

No, Sally was not correct in thinking he was calloused. He simply confirmed what he knew in the most efficient manner possible, and sometimes that required the assistance of others. When their assistance was no longer needed, he ended the contact until it was needed again.

Perhaps he was a little calloused.

When did that become such a bad thing? Wasn't it kinder to keep his contact with people as minimal as possible? Sherlock waved away memories of being with John, memories of simply enjoying the presence of someone who did not require him to change anything about himself.

John was different.

Frustrated that he was so preoccupied with the thoughts of one insignificant officer, he returned his attention to the task at hand. His current experiment involved cataloguing the decay of plant cells when exposed to various toxins. He had a system of checking his observations in a time table built around waking Sergeant Donovan, and being distracted by useless thoughts were unhelpful and threw off his schedule.

Just as he placed the next slide under his microscope, a final thought filtered through his mind unbidden.

Would Sally cast him off once she had observed all she needed? And even more disturbingly, would he care if she did?

นนน

The next time Sherlock entered his room, Sally was already awake and staring blankly at the ceiling. Flickering her eyes over at his entrance, she pushed herself up into a seated position as he took his now usual place on the edge of the bed. She was ready for battle.

"Why do you live with John?"

Surprised at the sudden question, Sherlock's eyes widened slightly.

"I thought I was the interrogator tonight."

"You've already asked a wide range of questions. Surely the next step is in determining my ability to create and articulate an inquiry, wouldn't you agree?"

Nodding slightly at her reasoning, he answered her in his characteristically emotionless tone. "I needed a roommate, and he was the most viable candidate."

"But why did you need a roommate, eh? Anyone looking at the way you dress can tell you aren't exactly hurting for money, so why do you need to share a flat?" At his silence, she pressed further. "Are you really that desperate to show off that you need an audience around you all the time? Is that it? You needed to have an admirer?"

"Is it so hard to believe that perhaps we are friends?"

"Yes," she scoffed immediately. "People like you don't have friends, so what is he?"

"I think that's quite enough of this strain of conversation. Your head is obviously clear enough for normal thought and you have made it through the night without incident. Both of your pupils are dilated the same amount. I'd say you are now safe enough from the perils of a concussion. I'll have Mrs. Hudson find you some clothes."

A hand on his arm stopped him from standing, though the way he leaned away indicated his clear desire to leave.

"I'm sorry. That was out of line." Her voice was small as it delivered words she rarely used.

"There is no need to apologize. You were simply making assertions based on your concept of who I am." He stood to walk out when her voice caused him to pause just inside the doorway.

"It bothers you, though, doesn't it? What people think of you? You act like it doesn't, but it does."

"Only what _some_ people think, perhaps." Closing the door behind him, he left Sally wondering what he could mean by that.

A few minutes later, a light tap on the door sounded just before Mrs. Hudson entered the room with an armful of clothes.

"Good morning, dearie. Sherlock said you'd be needing some clothes this morning, so I have a few things for you to wear."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. That's very kind of you. I'll be sure to return them as soon as possible."

"No worry about that, now. Let's just see if we can find something to get you home in."

By the time Sally was fully dressed and exited the room, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John placidly sat at the table with the paper and a warm cup of tea, smiling gently when he saw her.

"Good morning, Sally. Have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea?

"Coffee, please. Thank you." Sally sat down as John busied himself in the kitchen for a bit before returning.

"Well, Sherlock told me that you passed through the night without any problems, so I'd say we're out of any possible danger zone. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. A bit lightheaded, but I'm sure that's to be expected." She took the freshly filled cup from John, smiling her thanks before taking a small sip. "Where is Sherlock, anyway?" She desperately hoped she didn't sound as interested as she actually was.

"Took off, something about going down to see Lestrade."

"That git! He's probably going down to the Yard to try and finish the case without me!" Quickly swallowing a final mouthful of caffeine, she grabbed her coat and nearly ran out the door.

John chuckled to himself, shaking his head a bit as he returned to his paper. He wasn't quite sure what was happening between his flatmate and the good sergeant, but it was certainly entertaining to watch.

ฐฐฐ

By the time Sally arrived at the Yard, Sherlock was sitting calmly in Lestrade's office, his hands steepled under his chin as per usual. Barely taking time to finish knocking before opening the door, she strode in. Both men immediately looked at her, instantly putting her on the defensive.

"Morning, sir," she sent to the Detective Inspector. "Has he said anything yet?"

"I assume you mean Douglas Sullivan, the man who attacked you last night," Lestrade quirked an eyebrow. "He hasn't said a word. We only know his name because of the fingerprint scan. We were going to start asking him some questions this afternoon."

"Oh," she deflated slightly. "I'd like to head up the interrogation, sir," Sally rallied.

"You know I can't do that. Your involvement in the arrest has completely compromised any objectivity in the questioning. There's not a jury in the world that would accept a testimony given to an officer in your situation."

"But—"

"I can let you observe but you will _not_ be asking the questions. I'm having Thompson take the lead on this."

"Yes, sir," her head bowed in acquiescence.

Throughout the exchange, Sherlock sat still, unmoving except for his eyes which darted back and forth. When the conversation ended, however, he followed Sally out of the office.

"You should be the one heading the case. After all you were the one who caught him."

"Regulations," she piped. "They rule the world we live in."

"Maybe _your_ world," he scoffed, continuing with her to Thompson's desk. He stood behind her idly, listening as she conveyed all of her findings to the new lead officer. To an outsider, it would seem as though she had no real connection to the case, but Sherlock knew otherwise. He saw the way her jaw tightened, the subtle clench of her hands and the stiffness in her back. Sally Donovan could pretend all she wanted that she wasn't bothered, but she'd never be able to fool him.

It was only when they had returned to her own desk that she began to give vent to her frustration over not solving the case.

"The question is _why!_ Why did he attack those women? We know it had something to do with the charm, but what was it?"

"Am I correct in that you are now relieved of duty for the next several days due to your ordeal?" Sherlock suddenly asked, cutting her off.

"Uh…yeah. Lestrade is making me take at least two or three days off before I can return to active duty. Protocol."

"How would you like to see the way I _really_ work?" he asked with a mischievous glint.

ส็ส็ส็

"You know this is breaking and entering and you're doing it right in front of an officer of the law, right?"

Sherlock didn't pause from his task of picking the lock on the door as he answered. "But you're _not_ an officer. Not for a few more days anyway. You're on a break."

"You don't take a _break_ from being an officer, you prat! Do _you_ take a break from being an obnoxious—"

"Do you want to solve the case or not?" The door swung open behind him as he ushered her in with an exaggerated bow. Huffing slightly, she scanned to make sure no one was watching before stepping inside.

Douglas Sullivan's flat was, in a word, dismal. Shuttered windows let in very little light. The furniture was few and very heavily used. It almost looked abandoned.

The only exception was in a room where he had evidently spent a great deal of time. The furnishings were rich and full of color. Reds and blues combined to give an overall feeling of fire and water. And scattered throughout the room were various sculptures and pictures of dolphins.

"Geez, this guy had a thing for marine life," she whispered.

"Not quite that simple," Sherlock admonished. "Look again."

When she did, she could see that there was another commonality spread among the clutter. A woman with light red hair smiled up at her from various photographs. She was standing on land for only about a third of the pictures, the rest being on or in water. In nearly every photo with water, there was a dolphin there with her.

"Talia Hunter," she read off a newspaper clipping. "Marine biologist. She died at sea six months ago."

"Good. Now think it through. What was Douglas' motivation?"

"He obviously loved her. He appears in several of the photos, so we can rule out stalker. Boyfriend is probably more likely. Somehow he connected the dolphin charms to her death. Perhaps he somehow blamed the women for causing Talia's death?"

"Good, good," Sherlock praised. "You've missed nearly all of the important little motivating factors, but you did stumble upon a few of the large points."

Ignoring her glare, he continued.

"Prescription bottles on the counter in the kitchen, he had a mental instability dating back several years, given the large number of refills allowed without needing to be reexamined. So, history of psychosis, not too unexpected given the nature of his crime. The ring in the picture, he wasn't just a boyfriend, he was a fiancé. They'd obviously just moved into this place, the bedroom being the only room she decorated before disappearing."

"Disappearing? But—"

"Yes disappearing. Her body was never found! So now we have Douglas, lost without his chosen mate and unable to believe she is really gone, so what does he do? What would any of us do? He calls her."

"Calls her?"

"Yes, but there's a problem, he can't get through with a regular line, he needs to get through with a special kind of phone. A phone that has a connection to her."

"The dolphin charm!"

"Yes, the charm. He no doubt believed that the image of the dolphin would enable his call to make it through to her when all other phones failed."

"And the dress-up bit? Why did he pretend to be an old woman?"

"His grandmother raised him. She died two years ago. Dressing like her was his way of keeping her alive, of enlisting her help."

"Impressive."

Sherlock looked at her sharply, trying to gauge if she was being sincere or sarcastic. Apparently, she meant it, because nowhere in her face could he find evidence of her calling him a freak in the back of her mind, like she had so often done in the past.

"Thank you," he tested out the words.

"You really got all of that just from looking around his flat for a bit?"

"Well, that and seeing him last night," he admitted.

"Speaking of last night," she started. Inwardly, he cringed, waiting for her to delve into his hidden agenda behind the questions he'd asked. He really didn't want to think about why he had been so curious about her life. He rarely thought about the reasons for decisions people made, being much more focused on the result of their actions. Actions were cleaner and easier to deduce compared to the human heart, and besides—

His thoughts broke off at the brush of soft, warm lips against his own. Though it lasted only the fraction of a second, it seemed that her touch lingered long after she had pulled away.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

Turning on her heel, she left the room, a frozen Sherlock staring after her.

**AN: Oh, there were so many places where I was tempted to cut it off, but the kind reviews from last chapter made me want to give you just a little more, then a bit more, until we have what you have just read. A special thanks to VivaCohen, AnnMore, and Dark Topaz for reviewing. **

**Drop me a line, and let me know what you thought of the most recent chapter! It will make the next update come that much faster. ;)**


	5. Pursuance

**Unconnected**

**Chapter 5: Pursuance**

_His thoughts broke off at the brush of soft, warm lips against his own. Though it lasted only the fraction of a second, it seemed that her touch lingered long after she had pulled away._

"_Thank you for taking care of me."_

_Turning on her heel, she left the room, a frozen Sherlock staring after her._

ส้ส้ส้

Sally was at the road hailing a taxi by the time Sherlock had caught up to her. As a cab pulled alongside the curb, she turned to him.

"Where to?"

Folding his long body into the backseat, he answered her inquiry to the driver. "Baker Street. 221."

"We're not going to the station?"

"In about twenty minutes, Lestrade will be interrogating Douglas Williams. Based on his mental fragility, I'll be surprised if it takes longer than ten minutes before he gets his confession. The information we gathered will be in the possession of London's finest soon enough. We're moving on to more pertinent matters."

"Such as?"

"We're going to find Talia Hunter."

"You're using the collective 'we' an awful lot. What makes you think I'll come along for the ride?" Sally crossed her arms, leaning back against the side of the door.

"Are you really going to pretend that you aren't intrigued about Talia's whereabouts? Come now, I thought you were smarter than to try that. Besides, we both know that you're pleased about being included in the investigation. Your pulse has sped up, combined with widened pupils and tenseness in your extremities, indicating that you are mentally preparing for action, pointing to anticipation. There has been nothing in either your demeanor or body cues that suggest anything other than a general acceptance and readiness to satiate your investigative curiosity. Am I wrong?"

Sherlock finished his last sentence by looking directly at the woman next to him, challenging her with his question.

Unable to refute what he had said honestly, Sally instead chose to turn her attention out the window, causing the man next to her to chuckle in wry amusement.

"I thought not." Even without looking, she could hear his smug self-satisfaction from across the seat.

"So, how do we start the search for Talia anyway?" she redirected the conversation.

"By thinking." With that, Sherlock turned to look out of his own window. He didn't speak again until long after he was situated on his couch in his flat.

พพพ

Sally was bored. When she got bored, her mind wandered. When her mind wandered, bad things tended to happen.

For the past three hours, Sherlock had been lounged atop his sofa. During that time, he had not spoken and had barely moved. Instead, he stared blankly. Sally, meanwhile, stared blankly at him.

She had tried to follow his example. Truly, she had. For a full three quarters of an hour, she had thought and re-thought about everything she knew regarding Douglas Williams and Talia Hunter. She had gone over their shared flat in her mind. She had tried to remember every missing person's case that had to do with water.

There wasn't all that much for her to recall.

And so, when she had exhausted herself on the case to the best of her ability, her mind reached out for something else to think on. Despite the interesting artifacts present in the room, her thoughts mainly centered on the enigmatic detective himself.

Why had he asked her all of those questions the other night? Oh, sure, he gave fairly reasonable excuses, but they were still rather flimsy. Did he ask because he cared? Did she want him to care? Did he think she thought she wanted him to care?

She wasn't sure she wanted to answer that.

Truth be told, though, he wasn't near as big of a wanker as she'd thought he'd be. When she had first started her little project of observing him, she had tried to steel herself against the inevitable quips and barbs from his pointed tongue. When they had come, she found they weren't actually as awful as she had expected. If anything, they were more of a taunting to better herself. And she had bettered herself. Or so she thought, at least.

Deciding she may as well attempt a little deduction while sitting there silently, her eyes turned to the perplexing man before her. She took in the way his long, lean body stretched out, seeming to take up more space than what was physically possible. She supposed that had more to do with his presence than anything else. He didn't just occupy a space. He enveloped it. He controlled it. He—

She was grateful for the distraction that the entrance of John granted her from her thoughts.

The detective's roommate stopped just inside the door to take in the sight that was becoming increasingly more common. Sherlock, as usual, didn't register his arrival; most likely considering it unnoteworthy before deleting it from his attention. Sally, however, turned toward him eagerly.

"How was your big date tonight? Not a huge success, I reckon, seeing as you're already home and it's half past nine."

"Yeah, 'not a huge success' about sums it up," John answered her. "Turns out that octopi are fascinating creatures. I just spent an entire evening hearing about how wonderful they are and how she's planning on getting an octopus tattoo someday soon."

"You're not serious."

"Oh, yes. She wants it to hold three flags, too. The Union Jack, St. George's Cross, and a special third flag of an octopus."

"An octopus flying the flag of an octopus?"

"Yup."

"John, I think you deserve a drink. Care to join me?

"Oh, God, yes."

As they made their way to the kitchen to grab a couple of bottles, John nodded towards his flatmate.

"I thought the Douglas Williams case was all wrapped up. You get another one?"

"Talia Hunter, Williams' girlfriend. She's missing, or so _he_ thinks."

"You're not so sure?"

"There were no signs of foul play from the shipping report, no indication that it was anything other than an accident. How do we know she didn't just get tired of her mentally unbalanced boyfriend and take off for the hills? Start a new identity?"

"You think she may have left to get away from Douglas?"

"Wrong!" Sherlock cried from his perch.

"Yeah? What's your theory then?" Sally called back.

"People planning to leave someone they're currently living with tend to do so methodically. Small things begin to 'disappear,' being moved to wherever they're planning to live next. There are signs, just usually not ones that are picked up by stupid people." He entered the kitchen as he spoke, allowing Sally to give him the full brunt of her disgusted face at his last sentence.

"'Stupid people' being the rest of us, then?"

"Obviously," Sherlock failed to concern himself with her derisive snort. It was becoming far too commonplace to be noteworthy anymore.

"Talia was most certainly _not_ planning on going missing," he continued.

"How do you know that?" John asked, more out of habit than anything else.

"She'd just purchased a lamp and a small table four days before she was reported missing. The receipt was on the desk, having recently been entered into her checkbook. Who would possibly spend that effort on a place they were intending on leaving soon?"

"So what happened to her?"

"Ah, finally asking the right questions," Sherlock rewarded Sally with a smile, which she promptly returned. John looked between the pair of them before rolling his eyes.

"If anybody needs me, I'll be working on my blog," he called back as he exited out of the kitchen.

"What can you possibly have to write on your blog about? You haven't been on a case with me in ages, always too busy with work and your relentless pursuit to find a suitable companion."

"Well, we can't all have your luck at finding _friends_, now, can we? And believe it or not, I do have a life that extends beyond you and this apartment."

Sally's amused eyes followed John out of the room before turning to find Sherlock's bright and intense gaze seeming closer than it had a moment ago.

"So, where to next, boss?"

Quirking an eyebrow at the unexpected title that was unexpectedly pleasant, he answered, "To the docks. We need to see what Talia was up to when she disappeared."

นนน

The dock where Talia kept her boat was tucked away in a quiet pier several hours outside London in Hampshire. Sally looked out at the relentless waves, pausing for a moment to relish in the fresh air before scanning for clues. Sherlock looked over at her, taking her in as well as the scenery. His new…_companion_ appeared to be analyzing the area around her. Though he had seen her do so before on numerous occasions, always with pitiable results, he held out hope that perhaps _this time_ she would have improved a bit, having learned from observing him all these weeks.

"What do you see?" he tested her.

"Small dock, not a highly popular one, likely built for residents in the area so they don't need to travel too far. It's probably the kind of place where people know each other, so a stranger would be easily noticed. That means that either Talia's boat was not tampered with at, or at least not here, or that it was someone she knew.

"The space registered for her is empty, so that means we have a missing boat as well. We could try to trace the boat in hopes that it leads us to her, but six months is an awfully long time to be missing at sea. She probably isn't anywhere near it by this time. However, there could be clues onboard, so our next step is to find the boat and see what we can find there?"

"Not bad, Sergeant. Your methods are certainly improving." Sherlock smiled at her, transforming his face in a way that made Sally suddenly feel a bit out of breath. Had his eyes always been that _blue_?

"Come along," he called behind him as he walked back to the car. "Let's find that boat."

ศศศ

Sally wanted to yank her hair out in frustration. The problem with people who were determined to live simplistically and environmentally consciously was that they were nearly impossible to find when you wanted them. Talia seemed to have an abhorrence for anything that smacked of technological progress within the last fifty years. She had no GPS or tracking system, her boat was clean of any viably electronic footprint. How the hell was she supposed to find the bloody boat when the trail had been cold for six months and she couldn't get a single bloody clue as the where it might be?

"I suggest finding something else to do with your hands if you don't wish to mar your appearance," her companion's dry voice called out.

"What are you on about?" her frustration seeped into her words.

"You're about to remove handfuls of your hair at the rate you are going. Putting something else in your hands will otherwise occupy them, thus relieving you of the potential to walk around with either the strangest hairstyle known to man or, worse still, no hair at all while you wait for it to grow back evenly."

"And what would that matter to you?" she challenged.

"I _am_ the one who has to look at you." There was no emotion in his voice, though his body language seemed to indicate a distinct uncomfortableness.

"So, you'd be just as concerned if John had to go around with chunks of his hair missing?"

"His hair is too short to yank out."

"That's not quite the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"What do you suggest I fill my hands with, if not my hair?" she changed the topic.

He didn't answer, choosing instead to turn his attention back to his phone, seemingly bored with the matter at hand. Sally watched for a minute before standing and walking over to stand behind him. Sherlock gave no indication that he was paying any attention, and started with a jerk when her hands were suddenly on his shoulders.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked, thoroughly confused.

"Shut up, I'm trying to think. You told me to keep my hands occupied. This helps me open my mind."

Sally's fingers kneaded into the taut muscles of his shoulders. Despite his early tenseness, he eventually relaxed under the soothing movements. Though he was loathe to admit it, it did feel rather nice. He felt his eyes begin to slide close without his permission, his phone slowly lowering until it rested on his thigh. Somehow, by focusing on the motion behind him, a different part of his mind opened up, showing secret passageways inside his mind palace that he hadn't seen before.

As Sally's thumb circled and pressed into a knot just behind his left shoulder blade, she thought back to the case. How did police used to work cases where there was no technology to rely on? Under typical situations, someone like Douglas would be an ideal place to start, but for reasons that were clear enough, that was not much of an option at this time. What about other people in Talia's life? She mentally traced what she knew of Talia's friends and family as her hands absentmindedly slipped up to tangle into Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock was surprised to discover that his pulse and breathing had sped up as Sally's ministrations had become more familiar. As she gently tugged on his curls, he gave a slight moan, not fully realizing he had even done so. The sound for the most part went unheeded by the recipient, but he did notice that she began playing more with his hair, much to his pleasure.

Suddenly, her hands froze.

"Of course! There was a storm that night. If Talia had left her boat unattended for some reason, it would have been tossed along with the rest of the debris. Her boat wasn't that big, so it couldn't have been too far out to start with, which means that it would have gone along with the current!"

Before she had ceased speaking, she was out the door, swinging her coat on as she walked. A few moments later, her head popped back in to look at the detective still sitting in his chair with a bemused expression on his face.

"You coming?"

**AN: Thank you all for your patience. I am so, so sorry that this chapter has taken so long to get out. On the plus side, I'm done traveling and I have a fairly good direction for the story, so updates should be more frequent now.**

**Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who have reviewed! Meredithriddle, Fionn Rose, XxJuatXxAxXNobodyxX, VivaCohen, Nobody's Hope, AnnMore, and karmapolice28. Your kind words kept nagging at me to write when I lack inspiration. Thank you for my highest review count thus far for this story!**

**Oh, and by the way: the octopus date story is real. It happened to a friend of mine. He did not receive a second date. Shocker, I know. ;)  
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	6. Chapter 6

**Unconnected**

**Chapter 6: **

_Before Sally had ceased speaking, she was out the door, swinging her coat on as she walked. A few moments later, her head popped back in to look at the detective still sitting in his chair with a bemused expression on his face._

"_You coming?"_

นนน

It turned out that the stretch of beach that Sally had had in mind was quite a bit bigger than she had anticipated. After searching for hours, they had nothing to show for it aside from tired muscles, a few suspicious items of flotsam, and sand in unwanted places of clothing.

"Well, this was a big load of nothing," she grumbled under her breath, kicking at some driftwood.

"Oh, I wouldn't say 'nothing.'" Sherlock's voice was much closer than she had anticipated, though she refrained from giving a visible start. "Think. If the boat is not here, then what happened to it?" He pressed the matter, urging her to continue deducing.

""If it's not here, then either it washed up somewhere else, it sank, or someone moved it. Tidal patterns are against an alternate landing strip, and there were no signs of a sunk boat…"

"You mean that the boat was never found at all," he continued. "Go on."

"So someone probably took the boat, either here or out at sea. It can't still be at sea, someone would have noticed. So, whoever it was must have the equipment necessary to move a large boat to a dry storage space, which means…"

Sally never finished her sentence, choosing instead to stalk off in the direction her conclusions had lead her. About a block later, she realized that somewhere along the way she had started holding Sherlock's hand. Somehow, it seemed so natural, so right. So she left her hand where it was, safely ensconced in his warm clasp.

ญญญ

The boating house loomed large as the pair drew near. The man at the front looked exactly the way Sally pictured a boatman should look. He was dressed in waders with a tuque covering his head. The only thing that seemed to be missing was a grizzled beard, but she had to admit that she rather approved of its absence. It would be a shame to cover such a pretty jawline. In his hands, she caught a glimpse of him polishing something made of brass. As they approached, she was surprised to see that he was younger than she had first assumed. He was probably only a few years older than herself.

"Can I help you folks?" he asked in a surprisingly smooth voice.

"We're looking for a boat, washed up here around six months ago," Sherlock clipped out.

"Six months, eh? Didn't notice it'd gone missing for a while, then?" he chuckled.

"Actually, we're trying to find the girl who was on the boat when it disappeared," Sally interjected, holding up her badge. "Scotland Yard, we're here on a missing person's case."

Immediately, the man straightened up a bit.

"Scotland Yard? You're an awful long way from home. We don't see many of your folk down here—especially not officers as pretty as you. Gabe Randall. Pleasure to meet you." He offered his hand out with a wink, which Sally took with a smile of her own.

"A '75 Irwin Cruiser called Nereus Nymphs. Have you seen it?" Sherlock interrupted impatiently.

Rolling her eyes at his impatience, she let Gabe's hand drop. "If you wouldn't mind checking your records, it would be helpful."

"Alright then, if it will help you. Have a seat while I go check. Tea?"

"Yes, ple—"

"No, that won't be necessary." Sally glared at Sherlock for interrupting her, waiting until Gabe had popped out before turning on him.

"Is there any particular reason why I can't have a spot of tea if I want it?"

"I have nothing against the idea of tea, it's rather a chilly day at that, though I do object to the idea of you becoming sick by taking a cup from him."

"What are you on about this time?"

"Your new friend there clearly has a very lax idea of cleanliness. He seems to think that anything shiny must be germ free, going by the state of his shop. Apparently wax is a better substitute for soap."

Before Sally could retort, Gabe came back in holding a folder with papers inside it.

"I'll be darned, but we did take in a '75 cruiser six months ago. No damage, but we were called in to haul it away."

"Called by whom?" Sherlock asked earnestly.

"Not sure, it's not in the records."

"Can we see it?" Sally asked.

"Sorry. It was picked up just a few days later. I don't have the records for that, either," he finished before Sherlock could ask.

"What about your payment records? Surely someone paid for your services. You can tell us who."

"Hmm. Let me see," he riffled through some pages. "Yes, here it is, credit card in the name of Tom Broker."

Gabe had barely finished saying the name before Sherlock was halfway out the door. Sally jogged after him, calling a farewell and thank you to the helpful boatman. She politely pretended not to hear his offer of a drink that was called out just before the door slammed shut.

Sherlock was already typing away on his phone when Sally caught up with him. For herself, Sally took out her own phone to request a background check on Tom Broker. When she finished, she turned her attention back to the man beside her.

"You do realize you were acting like a complete arse, don't you?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered distractedly.

"I'm talking about Gabe. You didn't have to be so mean to him. He was trying to help."

Sherlock broke his focus on his phone to turn to look at her. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't sure why he had acted in such a way. Gabe did seem perfectly harmless, idiot though he was. Yet, he found himself deeply disliking the man without fully knowing why.

Thinking about Gabe made him think about the way he had been looking at Sally. At _his_ Sally. No, that was definitely something he didn't like about the man.

Sally watched Sherlock's face, trying to get some sort of read on what he was thinking. As usual, she could decipher nothing. The man was like a sphinx. Sighing in defeat, she turned to continue walking.

"Come on, then. We may as well get some dinner since it's getting late and we're not quite done here yet."

"I'm not hungry. I don't eat when I'm working on a case."

"Well I do, and I am hungry. You can either join me like a gentleman or be a complete wanker and leave me to eat by myself, but I think I'm going to pop into this place here. It looks fine enough."

Sherlock looked at the restaurant in question before rolling his eyes. "Yes, it's fine enough if you desire gastric distress. The only decent thing they make in there is salmonella. Come along, let's find you some food." Reaching out, he took her hand to pull her along behind him.

ญญญ

Sherlock quietly watched Sally eat from across the table. She had some time ago forgone the attempt to generate conversation or determine the cause of his staring. Halfway through the meal had been enough time to go from wondering to acceptance, which was why it surprised her when he suddenly began speaking.

"I don't know why you're so insistent upon eating again. People do not need to eat three times a day, it's simply a habit that has been ordained as part of being civilized. Once a day is sufficient, and even then it's not necessary to eat daily."

"Interesting thought. Is there a point or are you simply enjoying your time on a soap box?"

"The point is implied."

"And the implication is…?"

"That we are wasting time eating when we could be solving our case."

"Correction: _you_ are wasting time watching me eat. I, however, am taking proper care of my body and reducing the chances of limiting performance due to lack of energy or a drop in glucose level, which would cause a much greater delay in expediency than taking thirty minutes for me to grab a quick bite to eat. If you're so worried about saving time, go up to the counter and order something. You're just sitting here anyway, you may as well eat."

Sherlock sighed. "Eating is boring."

"Oh, and staring at me while I eat is fascinating?"

"Interesting, at the very least," he amended flippantly.

"What, really?" Sally asked, perplexed by the seemingly honest answer.

"Why did you not answer Gabe when he asked you out for a drink?" he abruptly changed the subject.

"You heard that?" her cheeks flushed slightly from embarrassment.

"Of course I did, though I was a bit surprised to find you pretending not to."

"What should I have said?"

"In most cases, I believe either an acceptance or rejection to the offer would have been appropriate."

"Which do you think I should have said?" her eyes narrowed, mischievously.

"I believe that the decision is entirely up to you."

"True, but I asked for your opinion on the matter."

"Why?"

"Maybe I'm interested in your thoughts. What did you think of him?"

"For starters, he's an absentminded and roughly uneducated man-child who lives in an unkempt bachelor pad with two other men. He has a cherished belief in his own appeal, which gives him confidence but not much depth. Very little outside of the nautical world holds any interest for him, aside from girls and liquor, but I understand that those two things are not necessarily far removed from the sailor mindset. Overall, his dull personality combined with his distance from London indicate that any initial interest you'd have in starting a relationship with him is likely to be short lived, and I'd be generous to estimate a total of three to four dates before you'd become completely bored of him and want out of any sort of relationship."

"So, I take it you don't think I should run back to him and accept his date offer before it's too late and he's forgotten me?"

"I highly doubt that running would be a good idea after you've just consumed nearly 2000 calories in a single meal."

"Never mind," she sighed.

"No, I don't think going back to him would be a good idea," he answered softly.

"Do you have a better idea? I _am_ awfully thirsty."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but the sudden ring of her phone interrupted anything he might have said. Instantly, Sally's focus was directed towards the caller, her eyes aimlessly listing out the window. After a few one-word responses, she thanked the caller and then turned to Sherlock.

"Looks like my informants came through first this time. I just got the background check for Tom Broker."

"Who is he?"

"Nobody. He doesn't exist."

"How does that help us?"

"He doesn't exist because Tom Broker is an alias used by MI5."

**AN: I know this chapter is short, but I'll try to get the next one out as soon as possible to make up for it. Major thanks to the awesome people who have reviewed my little story: Nos, meredithriddle, Fionn Rose, CowMow, and Drawing On Converse. You guys have made writing so much more enjoyable than it would be without you. Apparently, the octopus incident threw many of you for a loop. I'm glad it had its intended comedic effect.**

**And now to tell me what your thoughts are of this chapter. I'm sorry I don't have many fluffy moments in this story. I want to have them, I really do, but they just won't slow down on the case long enough for me to put it in! Sigh. Maybe I should put them on a long, boring stake-out or an undercover mission. Hmm…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Unconnected**

**Chapter 7: **

"_Who is he?"_

"_Nobody. He doesn't exist."_

"_How does that help us?"_

"_He doesn't exist because Tom Broker is an alias used by MI5."_

จูลื่

"Talia Hunter wasn't anyone special, just a sub-standard biologist with environmentalist sympathies. Why would she be of any inter—of course!"

"'Of course' what?" Sally asked, a bit perturbed about being out of the loop.

"If there was nothing about Talia that was interesting, then something must have happened to change things. She must have done something that made her interesting."

"How would a 'substandard biologist' suddenly become interesting to MI5?"

"Exactly!" In his enthusiasm, he stood and began pacing like a mad man, his hands half raised as though he were cradling an invisible sphere that held answers only he could see. "A marine biologist alone would not be at all interesting to anyone of importance. I must have missed something. There's always something." His mutterings abruptly stopped as he turned to face her again. "We need to go back to her flat."

จูลื่

John was enjoying a peaceful evening at home when his solitude abruptly ended. Sherlock noisily strode through the door, Sally trailing behind him. Without a word, Sherlock flung himself onto the couch, immediately relapsing into his 'thinking pose.' Sally and John shared a look, acknowledging that for the next hour or so, they should carry on as though he was no longer present in the room, because for all intent and purposes, he wasn't.

"How was Hampshire?" he asked pleasantly.

"Far. I'm sure you're already well acquainted with the way he's prone to not speak for hours on end when he's of a mind to, leaving you to suffer the journey in silence. Thank goodness for talkative neighbors in the next seat over or that train ride would have been interminable."

"Yes, I've often had cause to be thankful for the kind conversations of strangers when traveling with him. Did you meet anyone interesting?"

"Well, there was a nice man we interviewed about Talia. He worked at the boat house."

"Yeah? A nice man, you say?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Oh stop, it was nothing serious. Just a bit of flirting."

"Oh, you were flirting, were you? In front of _him_?" John gave a nod towards his oblivious flatmate.

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Oh nothing. Nothing at all." John thought back a few hours previous when he had suddenly received an onslaught of texts from Sherlock. They were roughly regarding the case, but there was something distracted about the tone that seemed off to him. Thinking of the texts and what they prompted him to do made him return his focus to Sally. "Sherlock said you might be on the trail again. You got a good lead?"

"It turns out that MI5 paid for Talia's boat to be towed."

John whistled lowly. "No kidding."

"And just now, we went back to her apartment. He was going on about how he'd missed something and needed another look. I'd wonder how he got into her email, but it is Sherlock we're talking about here. Anyway, turns out that some of her emails were some kind of code. He thinks she may have been up to some illegal activities."

"Really? What on earth could she have been up to that would be worthy of attention from MI5?"

"Easy. She was a terrorist," came the voice from the couch.

Sally sighed. "He can't stand not being the one to reveal his deductions, can he?"

"Not likely," John smiled.

"Sherlock found some signs pointing to her more extreme nature regarding environmental protection," Sally continued Sherlock's declaration.

"So why would MI5 want to pay for her boat to be towed away?" John wondered.

"Examining a potentially rigged boat is much easier on land than on sea. It is also unlikely that they would have the equipment necessary to tow the boat themselves lying around. Using a local towing company makes perfect sense."

"And Talia simply let them take her boat? No questions asked?"

"Oh, I'm sure there were questions, John, though I highly doubt they were in the form of civilized discussion. Clearly, Talia was an experienced diver, her apartment shows obvious signs of her training and dedication. The plan was to attach an explosion device to an oil rig underwater, which means she had the diving equipment necessary to make a quick and silent escape while submerged. Therefore, the authorities likely approached the boat to arrest her and her companion when they slipped away right under their noses."

"Companion?" Sally asked. Even she didn't know this part yet.

"Obviously. She had to send the emails to _someone_, and it would take two people to secure the device they made."

"Yes, _obviously_," Sally snorted.

"So where are Talia and her companion now?" John wondered.

"That's exactly what MI5 is no doubt wondering right now."

"You don't think they've caught her yet?"

"Of course not. That's why we're going to catch her."

"We?" both John and Sally asked.

"Obviously. All hands on deck for this one, as they say."

Sally and John shared a look. Things were going to get much more interesting.

จูลื่

"But you have to at least _tell_ them that you're working the case!" Sally fumed.

"Why on earth should I? It's their incompetence that led to her being on the loose in the first place."

"You need to tell them because if you go poking your nose into an ongoing case without their being aware, they're going to get suspicious about your interest, and they'll probably assume you have something to do with it."

"Stupid people. Why should I bother what they think?"

"Because those 'stupid people' don't take kindly to being called stupid and they have the power to put you away indefinitely."

"Indefinitely," he scoffed. "This isn't Guantanamo Bay."

"No, it isn't, but trust me when I say you do not want to mock these people."

Sherlock pressed his lips together in a tight line, which was as close to an agreement as she was likely to get. Sighing loudly, Sally handed him a phone with a number already entered.

"_Call_ _them_."

Narrowing his eyes at her order, he took the phone, pressing the send button.

จูลื่

"Well that was tedious," he sneered, disconnecting the line and tossing the phone on the table.

"What did they say?" John asked.

"They asked about my connection to the case and how I'd come across my information. Standard questions, really, and not nearly as idiotic as I had anticipated."

"Was that just a bit of personal growth?" Sally asked John, stunned.

"I think it was," he confirmed, wide-eyed.

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped. "I said they weren't complete idiots, not that they weren't still idiots after all. Now, come along. They want us to come down to their office right away." Striding out the door, he left his two companions to scurry after him, attempting to stifle their mirth at his offended sensibilities.

"A fiver says he calls someone an idiot in under ten minutes," John offered.

"You're on. I'm wagering he'll call them stupid."

จูลื่

Half an hour later found John five pounds richer.

Upon arriving at MI5 headquarters, Sherlock had insisted he be granted full access to all intel connected to Talia Hunter. When they had protested due to his civilian status, he had shot back that anyone who worked in an intelligence gathering organization must by now be fully aware of who he was and what he did, and that anyone who had this knowledge and then obstructed him from gathering evidence to solve a case must be an idiot.

Humility was not a burden Sherlock Holmes had to struggle with.

He then, of course, continued with his deductions of everyone in the vicinity, including gambling problems, porn addiction, romantic entanglements, and even in one case a fear of spiders.

Sally wordlessly handed John a five pound note, which he pocketed smugly. Living with Sherlock all this time had not been for nothing.

Eventually, they did end up getting the access that they needed, but not before Sally smoothed things over a bit with a touch of diplomacy. Sherlock and John watched in amazement as Sally soothed delicate egos with a panache worthy of a seasoned politician. By the time she was finished, scowling faces had become jovial and teasing.

"Most impressive. I didn't know you could do that," John complimented quietly as they were being led to the records room.

"There's a reason why Lestrade always has me there for press conferences," she winked.

"Lestrade keeps you in the press room because he is a logical man, at least for the most part, and you are a positive face for them to show in relation to your age, race, and gender. You also happen to be quite eloquent when you want to be, which is enhanced all the more by your photogenic appearance," Sherlock inserted himself into their conversation with as much tact and as little concern as a crying baby in a church.

Sally blinked at him for a moment before turning back to John.

"I'm not sure if I've just been complimented or insulted."

"With him, they're usually one and the same," John shook his head. He had long ago given up on trying to educate Sherlock on the necessity of social graces. He was content if he restrained himself enough to not make his unfortunate recipient either cry or try to attack him.

John was, however, rather interested that Sherlock had interjected into the conversation at all. He and Sally had been making small talk, something which Sherlock hated, about the press, another touchy subject for him, while working on a case, which was usually more than enough to keep him otherwise occupied. The only thing different about this situation than from multiple other failed attempts to focus Sherlock's attention on the mundane, was Sally. Could his flatmate actually be _interested_ in the sergeant?

Shaking his head, he attempted to clear himself of the last thought. He wasn't sure if he was ready for such a paradigm shifting realization at the moment.

จูลื่

It turned out that one Talia Hunter had been on the MI5 watch list for some time, ever since she became affiliated with an extremist group during university. John, Sherlock and Sally waded through the intel that had been accumulated over the years.

"Why do you even _need_ to look through all of this? Aren't you supposed to be able to deduce everything about her in under a minute?" Sally grumbled.

"As usual, you seem to be neglecting certain pertinent facts, namely that I never met her in order to deduce her. Secondly, I am teaching you how to do _your_ job better using the resources you have available. You can't deduce with my skill, so it's pointless to teach you to depend on it."

"Oh, I can't deduce anything, can I?"

"Can you?" he challenged. Sally responded by squaring her shoulders towards him, fixing him with her gaze.

"You were jealous when Gabe talked to me so familiarly. You weren't sure why you were, though, so you passed it off as just being an ass like always. You claim that you are just trying to teach me how to utilize police resources, but I can't help but notice that you are making progress at a much slower rate than is typical. You're dragging this out. Maybe you're bored, but you've been ignoring Lestrade's calls ever since we started, so it can't be that."

"Interesting, but I was hoping for a deduction about the _case_."

"Oh." Her voice came out small, and might have been embarrassed if she hadn't become so accustomed to Sherlock repeatedly pointing out her mistakes. She'd given up feeling embarrassed around him long ago.

In an attempt to break the award silence, John began itemizing facts that they had discovered so far about Talia's accomplices and possible locations, with Sherlock shooting a majority of them down as being obviously unlikely. The diversion technique worked, however, and soon they were fanning out to scope out different places.

จูลื่

Sally had just started her second cup of coffee as she stared out from a park bench when someone seated himself beside her. Without looking, she knew it was Sherlock.

"You never finished your deduction," Sherlock skipped past all attempts at pleasantries.

"What are you talking about?" she asked as she continued to look straight out towards the house she was covertly watching.

"Earlier, when you were making your amusing deductions, you never quite finished them."

"'_Amusing'?"_

"You were starting to make progress, but then you stopped."

"Yes, because _someone_ interrupted me."

"I didn't think it was the right time to begin a long conversation."

"What on earth do you know about _timing_? Do you even have a fundamental understanding of what tact is?"

"Admittedly, I have little tolerance for small talk, but yes, of course I understand what 'tact' is, even though I choose to disregard it. Besides, we are likely to be sitting here for some time. Conversation is not completely uncalled for."

"I'm not so sure it's a subject I wish to take up with you again," Sally resisted.

"You accused me of being jealous. I hardly think that's fair," Sherlock carried on as though she'd agreed. "One would have to have an idea of possession before they can feel jealous."

"Are you saying you don't feel possessive about anyone?"

"You think I do, or you wouldn't say it, obviously, but no, I'm not possessive about people."

"Only things," she read between his words. "Bull. You feel possessive about people you care about: John, Mrs. Hudson, even the pathologist who's always hanging around you."

"Molly," he provided. "But that still wouldn't explain why I'd feel jealous of Gabe."

"You're possessive about people you like," she continued, ignoring what he'd said. "You don't like it when anyone's attention is drawn away from you, all the more so when you actually like them. And deny it if you want to, you like me."

"Are you certain of that?" he challenged.

"You wouldn't be this civil to me if you didn't. You forget that I have very personal insight into how you treat people you don't like or respect."

"You think I've changed my mind about you?"

"Obviously." Sally's voice was confident and unhesitating as she finally turned to look at him.

"Why would I do that?"

"Possibly because you've gotten to know me better, more likely because I've started giving you that attention you crave."

"And what attention is that?" he leaned towards her, curious what she'd say.

"You like being revered as a genius. You like having an audience to show off to."

"Are you saying you revere me?" his eyebrow rose.

"I'm saying I see you for who you are."

It wasn't until her mouth was against his own that he realized they'd been slowly moving towards each other. Unlike the first time she'd kissed him, which had been swift and almost casual, this time was slow and drawn out. Her lips moved softly against his, confidently coaxing him into instinctual motion.

Her left hand smoothed up to tangle in his dark curls, urging him to tilt slightly to give her better access. As she pulled him closer, she realized he was doing the same with his hands on her hips. Without increasing the pace, he nonetheless became more insistent, drawing a soft sigh from her when he finally pulled away.

"I did say you were possessive, didn't I?" she asked, her voice a bit thicker than it had been a few minutes before. "You couldn't even let me keep my focus on the case."

"I assure you that your focus on the case was not my primary motivating factor, it's just that it was unnecessary. I've known where Talia is for several hours now."

Sally gaped at him.

"_Hours?_ You've known for hours and you didn't tell me?"

"There's no need for concern. She won't escape."

"That's not exactly my reason for concern. I'm angrier over the fact you've left me sitting here alone all this time than anything else."

"I came to keep you company, didn't I?"

Sally sighed, deciding against the futility of continuing the matter.

"Well, let's go get her, then."

"No need. John and I already apprehended her and handed her over to the police. She should be making friends with her new cellmates right now."

Sally's jaw dropped as she glared at him.

"Explain," she ground out.

"I contacted my Homeless Network once we got back from Hampshire, and they found where she was hiding. You had already left to come here and John was with me. There was no need to drag you out to the other side of the city and risk losing her. Besides, John hasn't been doing much running after criminals lately. He's getting a bit doughy, I thought the exercise would do him some good."

"I'm not sure I entirely believe you," her voice hardened with anger.

"If you choose to disregard the facts, perhaps I should withdraw my earlier assessment of you reasonableness, but your belief does not change the reality, no matter how m=you might wish it to be so. I am here now to collect you and bring you back."

"And a text wouldn't have sufficed?"

"Your phone is dead."

Sally dug through her purse to find that her phone was indeed dead. Cursing under her breath, she shoved it back into her bag.

"You really ought to be sure you have all the facts before you go off in an emotional rant."

Narrowing her eyes at his bland face, Sally had an irresistible urge to see some emotions on display in him, something to prove that he was not so superior to everyone else, that he was just as subject to 'emotional rants' as anyone else.

A wicked smile flashed on her face before she pounced, grabbing his head with both hands before crashing their lips together. Using every skill she had, her lips moved insistently against him, pulling every kiss with a force he didn't know she had in her.

It didn't take long for him to respond with a fervor that surprised her. Digging his fingers into her thick hair, he took possession over the kiss, deepening it as he slowed it down.

Despite the fact that she had initiated it, Sally found herself becoming affected by it at a much deeper level than she'd anticipated. By the time he broke away, her head was spinning and she looked at him with a slightly dazed expression that he found himself thinking of as adorable.

"As much as I'm enjoying your recent habit of attacking me, I advise you not to think you can manipulate me like the idiots you've been with before. I'm _not_ Anderson," he warned darkly, choking a bit on needing to clarify his distinction from the moronic medical examiner. Standing, he offered her his hand to leave.

"No, you're certainly not like Anderson," she muttered, taking his hand as she plotted ways to retaliate.

**AN: A special thank you to Fionn Rose, Nos, meredithriddle and an anonymous guest for reading and reviewing. You made me smile! I was a bit sad that last chapter got so few reviews because I seem to be getting fewer with each chapter, but I'm hoping this one will give you a bit more to talk about. I had plans to carry the Sally/Sherlock relationship a bit further, but I might cut it off sooner and start a new project instead. cough blackmail! cough ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Unconnected**

**Chapter 8**

**AN: I usually do these at the end of the chapter, but I thought I'd make an exception this time. First off, thank you to all the lovely reviewers who left me some love on the last chapter. It was extremely appreciated. Secondly, I'd like to note that the ridiculous delay of this chapter has no bearing whatsoever on my "blackmail threat" from chapter 7. I was not holding out for a predetermined number of reviews before posting. My delay was simply a lack of muse. And work. And sickness. And, and, and… Enough of the excuses. Enjoy the show!**

_**Previously on Unconnected: Sally and Sherlock were hot on the case of a missing fugitive. Their search led them to MI5 and then to a semi-stakeout where they each surveyed separate locations. Eventually, Sherlock showed up to where Sally was sitting, got into some deductions about our favorite consulting detective, made out a bit, revealed that he'd captured the fugitive without her, and then made out a bit more. And action!**_

"_As much as I'm enjoying your recent habit of attacking me, I advise you not to think you can manipulate me like the idiots you've been with before. I'm not Anderson," he warned darkly, choking a bit on needing to clarify his distinction from the moronic medical examiner. Standing, he offered her his hand to leave._

"_No, you're certainly not like Anderson," she muttered, taking his hand as she plotted ways to retaliate._

ฉฉฉ

Walking steadily towards the busy street, Sally took a moment to contemplate the situation she'd found herself in. How had a simple deduction of the detective evolved into a series of kisses? Then again, with Sherlock, nothing was simple, certainly not a deduction of his motivations.

One thing niggled at the back of her mind, refusing to be pushed aside. He hadn't actually denied being jealous of Gabe. Rather, he nearly confirmed it with his actions. So where did that leave them? She wasn't sure, but there was definitely a conversation that would need to take place in the near future.

Thinking about the last few moments caused her lips to turn up at the corner. Not many people challenged Sally Donovan. It was rather nice having someone to go up against. Anderson certainly didn't fit the bill.

So lost was she in thought that she nearly bumped into Sherlock's back when he stopped at the main road. Looking back at her curiously, his smirk was almost knowing, as if he knew exactly what she'd just been thinking about.

As soon as they were ensconced in the back of a taxi, Sherlock resumed their previous conversation.

"I find it interesting that you seem to see me as a possessive man, yet you do little to disengage yourself from my presence. If anything, one would think you sought it out."

"I find it interesting that you dredge up subjects we weren't talking about just because you don't want to let it rest."

"We were talking about it. About fifteen minutes ago. Have you forgotten? It was just before—"

"_Yes_, I remember," Sally cut off his mischievousness, keenly aware of the driver hanging on what was being said in the back.

"You haven't answered my question," he relented.

"You haven't properly asked a question." Sally's voice was a touch too innocent to be fully believed as such.

"It was implied."

"Haven't you ever learned that you get better answers when people know they're being asked something?"

"You know full well what I meant," Sherlock's brows drew together in pique, though an underlying amusement was staunchly present.

"Let's pretend I don't," she couldn't help but tease. His reactions were too gratifying.

"I'd rather pretend you were a reasonable human being with her head firmly attached."

"Are you saying you'd have to pretend?" Sally sucked in a dramatic gasp.

"I'm saying: answer the damn question."

"And I'm saying: ask the damned question."

For several moments, the air was tense as they glared at each other, waiting to see who would cave first.

In the end, it was the driver who ended the exchange, as he dropped them off at their destination and asked for his payment. Climbing out of the car, Sally glanced around Baker Street. Though she had wanted to begin the interrogation of Talia Hunter, she had to admit that a substantial part of her was calling out for some bracing coffee before heading into the maelstrom that was sure to be present at the station.

After clomping up the stairs and putting the kettle on, Sally sat down at the kitchen table to resume their battle of wills. Rather than silence, however, she decided to fight through pursuing different topics. It shouldn't take too long for the detective to become frustrated enough to spit out his question outright.

"You still haven't told me how you captured Talia Hunter."

"Indeed, I haven't." Sherlock let the statement fall flat. Sally was not the only one who knew how to play the game.

"Where was she hiding?" she gave in with a sigh.

"She was in the basement of an abandoned house, along with her accomplices. There were two men with her when John and I arrived. Clearly, they were in the process of developing several new bombs intended for various oil rigs. Their plan was to deploy them tomorrow night. I'd say that our interception was certainly timed well."

"Did she say anything about Douglas Sullivan?"

"I didn't do much in the way of interrogation, but even if I had, I fail to see the value of such a line of questioning."

"This whole thing started because Douglas was attacking people trying to reestablish a connection with her. Don't you think there's information to be had?"

"Information? Certainly. Whether it's information that will be helpful is another matter entirely."

"How could it not be helpful? It's a primary motivating factor!" Sally's face flushed pleasantly with her passion, Sherlock noted quietly. This particular look, cheeks filled with the bloom of righteous indignation, was one of his favorites. He'd have to try and get her to wear it more often.

"It may be a motivating factor for Douglas, but I fail to see how it would in any way influence Talia. She obviously cared nothing for him."

"And you're an expert about her motivation based on the nonexistent interrogation you performed on her?"

"I know because she failed to have anything minutely pertaining to sentimentality. No jewelry, no tattoos, no little mementoes. There was nothing to indicate that she had any care or concern for anything outside of her political bent. She is a creature of habit, with no sign of changing anything about her appearance or behavior for the past five years at least, but aside from that, she's a blank slate. There's no real personality behind the borrowed persona of 'terrorist.'"

"You never cease to amaze me. With all your considerable observational skills, you're still completely ignorant as to the human heart. No one could truly have that little personality. She has to be hiding something."

"I suppose we will have to wait and see which of us is right," he growled out. He had swelled with the first sentence, only to deflate with the next. Who was she to question his capacity for understanding?

Silence rested between them, each lost in their thoughts about how misguided the other was. The sharp whistle of the kettle finally drew them out of their funk as Sally rose to go prepare the coffee. Lord knew, she'd never get anything to drink if she waited for him to make it.

Adding a splash of cream to her cup, she left Sherlock's black, the way he liked it. They each sipped in quiet contemplation, their eyes frequently meeting over the rims of their beakers. In what could have passed as a pre-ordained movement, they simultaneously set down their empty cups before reaching for each other.

Gently, Sally brushed her mouth against his, her hand urging his head to tilt sideways just enough to give her better access. Slowly, she urged his lips open, languorously caressing the inside of his mouth. Sherlock relaxed into the motion, allowing her to dictate the pace. His hands seemed to move of their own accord as they stroked up her side, brushing the edges of her breasts before wrapping loosely around her torso.

Sighing in pleasure, Sally longed to get closer. With small, smooth movements, she pushed herself forward in tiny increments until she found herself straddling his lap, uncertain of when she'd gotten there. Her hands, which had been stroking through his fascinating curls, slid down to rest against his chest. Idly, she played with his buttons, contemplating if this was really the right time to be doing this.

Sensing her uncertainty, Sherlock drew back just enough to look into her eyes. At the silent question he read there, he smiled softly, not smirking for once.

"Perhaps we should get to the station now. There will be time for this later," he suggested quietly.

Shaking herself back into clear thought, Sally agreed, reluctantly climbing off of him. Turning to compose herself under the pretense of looking for her bag, she failed to see Sherlock taking slow, deep breaths as he attempted to do the same.

ญญญ

As she'd predicted, the station was a madhouse. Lestrade was standing toe to toe with Alex Schneider, the head of MI5, arguing over jurisdiction. Schneider was claiming priority based on the chain of command within the government. Lestrade countered by saying that it was his people who caught her, so they ought to have the first shot. Sally restrained a smile at the thought of Sherlock belonging to Greg. Most of the time, it rather seemed that the entire department belonged to Sherlock.

Barely sparing a glance toward the men, Sherlock pushed past to go to the interrogation room. Sally hastened after him, chuckling under her breath at the pissing match she left behind.

Interrogation room 3 held an exhausted looking Talia Hunter. Her handcuffed arms rested listlessly on the table, a vacant look on her face as she stared unseeingly at the two-way mirror. Her hair and clothes hung limply, conveying a lack of interest that predated her incarceration.

Sally flipped through the notes of her previous questionings, scanning for information. Apparently, she was going for the double agent defense. She claimed that she had infiltrated the terrorist organization in order to gain information and prevent further attacks.

"Quiet," Sherlock suddenly snapped into the stillness.

"I wasn't saying anything," Sally huffed.

"I could hear the gears in your head grinding. It's distracting."

"Have you thought that maybe you're just too easily distracted? Maybe you should learn to focus more, rather than blame everyone else."

Sherlock shot her a side glare, pursing his lips in restrained amusement.

"As much as I cherish these discussions we seem to be having more often lately, perhaps we should go talk to our detainee," he suggested blandly.

"Sherlock Holmes, are you willingly offering to talk to another human being?"

"As stated previously, I'm merely training you to do your job correctly. Isn't interrogation a skill you need to do often as an officer?"

"I think we passed you 'merely training me' some time ago," she said lowly before stretching up to plant a lingering kiss on his frown. By the time she drew back, the frown had been replaced by a pout at her departure. "Later," she smirked, pecking him once more before turning towards the door.

**AN: Thank you to Catindahat, Dark Topaz, Fioll Rose, meredithriddle, AnnMore, All The Pretty Horses, drezzy, QueenRexKonabi124, and 3 Guests for your wonderful reviews. They prompted me to keep writing. I'll update again as soon as I can. Hopefully much sooner than the last wait. ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Unconnected**

**Chapter 9**

"_I think we passed you 'merely training me' some time ago," she said lowly before stretching up to plant a lingering kiss on his frown. By the time she drew back, the frown had been replaced by a pout at her departure. "Later," she smirked, pecking him once more before turning towards the door._

ยยย

Talia Hunter looked up at the deceptively feminine form that entered the room. The hard set of her face belied any gentleness that may have been indicated by her gender. Rather, she gave the impression of a woman accustomed to being taken seriously. The only aspect of her that seemed untamed was her hair that corkscrewed around her head. The rest of her was calm, controlled. There was no doubt or uncertainty. In this room, she was supreme.

Behind the woman strode a tall man with piercing eyes set in an impassive face. They were so cold, they seemed nearly lifeless as they assessed her. Talia remained unaffected, her blank eyes watching the pair approach the table.

The dark woman lightly tossed the folder on the table with a soft thunk as she settled into the chair opposite Talia. Barely flicking a glance at the papers, she kept her eyes on her interrogators, waiting for them to begin.

"You've been a busy girl," Sally began. "Getting engaged, faking your death, disappearing to make bombs. Have you picked up an instrument as well? I hear the violin is lovely when played in underground hideaways."

The only reaction garnered by her mockery was a slight tightening in her eyes and a twitch in her jaw.

"Look, we already know you were building the bombs. We just need you to tell us why," Sally tried another tact.

"Like I told the old guy, I was working undercover. I was going to reveal who was at the top of the ring as soon as I got close. You blokes pulled me out too soon and ruined all my progress."

"Yeah? Who were you working for then? Who is your commanding officer?"

"That's classified," came the defiant answer.

"Lie." Sherlock's voice seemed to startle the women who had nearly forgotten he was there, standing in the back corner.

Sally spared him a glare before continuing her questioning. Talia stuck to her story, refusing to give any details about her supposed superiors as her face remained devoid of any emotion.

Finally, Sally asked about Douglas.

"What about him?"

"He was your fiancé, right? Did you know he went a bit mad trying to find you after you left?"

Talia was unable to stop the spasm of confusion and grief from dancing across her face before returning to its previous impassivity. Sally latched on like a bloodhound following a scent.

"While you were going through your time underground, did you happen to hear about the spree of murders lately? That was Douglas. We caught him the other night just after he attacked me."

"That's impossible!" she cried, her first real response.

"Oh yeah. It seems he was looking for you. Thought a dolphin charm would help him find you. A charm that looks an awful lot like the one tattooed on your wrist."

Talia unconsciously began rubbing the tattoo with her thumb.

Sally let the silence hang over them while the woman pondered through the revelations.

"I thought he would be safe, that he would carry on with his life."

"Love makes you do crazy things," Sally softly commented. "What was the real reason you left?"

Talia seemed to shake herself together, her eyes again turning cold, though they lacked the force they had previously held.

"I think I'd like my lawyer now."

With a wry smile, Sally stood and walked out, Sherlock hard on her heels.

"That was interesting," Sally said to her tall companion as they headed towards her desk.

"I fear we might have different ideas of interesting," he quipped.

"Oh come on, don't be a bastard. Can you honestly tell me you found that boring?"

"I think interrogations in themselves are pointless. Truth rarely is revealed, and all you can really discover is a person's ability to act while parceling out what they want you to hear."

"Are you saying you weren't able to deduce anything during our time in there?"

"Don't be an idiot, of course I deduced her. I had the same information I received while apprehending her. She's not as special as she thinks she is, and she's certainly no double agent."

"Of course she's not, but what about her reaction when I brought up Douglas?"

"What about it?"

"That didn't seem strange to you?"

"That she wouldn't know that the killer lately roaming the streets would turn out to be her former fiancé? Of course she didn't know. How could she?"

"What about the way she reacted when I told her?" At Sherlock's questioning look, she elaborated. "She showed remorse. For the first time in the whole bloody conversation, she showed remorse at hurting him, at driving him to the point of murder in the pursuit of her."

"Oh that. Irrelevant," he scoffed.

"Irrelevant!" she cried. "How could that be irrelevant?"

"Why would feelings matter? This is a matter of actions with grave consequences. We know Douglas killed through a misplaced attempt to contact Talia, and we know that Talia disappeared to become a terrorist. How could her feelings on Douglas's actions help us discover her motives for deciding to blow up an oil rig, which, by the way, is obvious when you think about her fascination with marine biology? Of course she would hate the evil oil corporations and desire to blow them up."

"You're forgetting that she's waited a long time to become a terrorist. Why now? And how would blowing up an oil rig aid her quest to help the environment? The spilled oil will cause worse damage than the process of removing said oil."

"She was biding her time, and besides, the target was a new construction, their goal being to cause maximum damage before any oil had actually been taken. Drilling is scheduled to start next week, there wouldn't have been any oil on it yet. Do you actually do your research? I know the papers are tedious, but they do occasionally have helpful information in them."

"Oh sod off. Besides, I still think there's more to her connection to Douglas than… Oh! That's it!" With a bright smile, she spun around to begin digging through the piles of papers stacked on her desk, leaving Sherlock a bit put out at the sudden removal of his sparring partner.

A few minutes later, Sally was holding a file for Douglas Sullivan regarding his previous employment. A quick scan confirmed that he had indeed worked for the oil company targeted by Talia until a few years ago when an accident had left him with a head trauma, causing brain damage. He had qualified for workers' compensation, but it was clear that the settlement would hardly be enough for the drastic life changes necessary.

"Are you still going to tell me the connection is irrelevant?"

ฌฌฌ

John tried to ignore the voices approaching from the stair way.

"It's not mad to act irrationally when someone you love gets in danger."

"Sally, you really need to start thinking before you open your mouth irrationality is the byproduct of madness."

"So Talia is mad for seeking revenge on the company that destroyed her fiancé's life?"

"Anyone who thinks violence is an acceptable solution to a problem is an idiot. In what possible way would destroying an oil rig retroactively provide a financially stable future for Talia and her brain damaged paramour?"

"So you think you're above the whole revenge mentality?"

"Obviously."

"Is that why you kissed me at the Yard just as Anderson was walking by?"

"You had just miraculously put together the details that Talia had wanted to hurt the oil company that had repaid her fiancé's service by giving him the shove and a token monetary effort, and that the accident had triggered a paranoid psychotic break that had fully actualized with Talia's disappearance. I thought you deserved a reward."

"Oh, and the appropriate reward was shoving me up on my desk and pawing at me?"

"I didn't hear you complain." Sherlock's voice had grown darker, and John tried in vain to focus his attention on his paper. He most certainly did not take heed of the way the sounds from the other room had ceased to be words and had morphed into soft rustling and occasional bumps, presumably as they knocked into tables and walls. It was a relief when he heard the latch to Sherlock's door close. Amusing as it was to see his flatmate with the fiery sergeant, there were some sights he had no desire to witness.

ตตต

Sally rested her head against Sherlock's shoulder, a contented sigh escaping almost without her knowledge.

"Looks like 'later' has finally made an appearance," she mused. Sherlock chuckled lightly, playing idly with her fingers on his chest.

"It did indeed. We make a good team, Sergeant Donovan."

"Don't go getting any mad ideas that I'll be another one of your followers. You helped me through this case and showed me some of ways to utilize my resources, but if you think for one moment that I'm going to be there next to John while you run about, you've got another thing coming. I'm a cop, not a sidekick."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he smiled.

"Glad we got that squared away."

Sally was just beginning to get pleasantly distracted by the light nibbles her neck was currently receiving when her phone buzzed.

"Leave it," he commanded.

She leaned over to pick it up.

"It's Lestrade. New case. Have to go."

Sherlock wrapped an arm around her waist tucking her against him once again. "You could at least put it off for five more minutes, couldn't you?" he half pleaded.

"You are ridiculous. Are you actually trying to convince me that if it had been you receiving the call I wouldn't already be alone by now?" Her raised eyebrow only received a pout in response. They both knew he couldn't honestly deny the charge.

"Please?"

Her eyes softened. "I guess a few more minutes wouldn't hurt them. After all, if it was really serious, they'd call…"

A buzz from Sherlock's phone cut off her words. Their eyes connected as slow smiles crept over both of their faces.

"Shall we?"

Moments later, the pair hurried out of the room, pausing only long enough to toss John his coat as he was unceremoniously escorted out the door.

"Why can't Sally help you? I was having a nice cuppa back there."

"Don't be ridiculous, John. Sally has her own job, and I need you. After all, someone needs to make the wrong observations so I can rule them out."

Sally rolled her eyes at the bewildered man. "There's no end to the charm in that one, is there."

"Enough, you two, let's go. The game is on!" Sherlock cried, sweeping out the door. With twined expressions of exasperation Sally and John followed him out.

**End**

**AN—Well, I've finally finished it. To be honest, I wasn't sure how to end the story, thus the obscenely long hiatus. It was only the other day as I was re-reading the reviews this story received (and feeling very guilty about never ending it) that I had an inspiration about how to end it. I'm not completely satisfied, but a bad ending is better than no ending, yeah? Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed and left this story on your alert feed. Know that I absolutely wrote this because of you, and I hope that it was satisfactory. Cheers!**


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